


To Be Human

by akaiyuzu



Series: A Different World; The Same You [4]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: (but not as slow as the last time i swear), Aged-Down Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Former Koujaku/Aoba and now they're like an old divorced couple, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiyuzu/pseuds/akaiyuzu
Summary: Eighteen years after Platinum Jail's fall, things haven't changed much in Midorijima and Seragaki Aoba is in his third year of high school. Life is, for him, the days spent with his grandma and twin brother, fooling around with his friends, riding his bike to school and working a relaxed part-time job at a repair shop. A small world, easy to manage.The afterimage of strawberry-blonde hair and silver piercings glistening in the sunlight foretells a person not at all easy to manage or even understand. The things Aoba knows and understands about himself, too, slowly seem to dwindle into nothing.





	1. Falling Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Hey! ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡  
> First of all, this fanfic was inspired by [this artwork](http://murasakiyuzu.tumblr.com/image/145402634872) (I won't post it directly here since I couldn't ask for the artist's permission), so you should imagine these nerds like this exactly. This fanfic's word doc is lovingly called "gakuran au".  
> Now, today is my birthday and I'm unabashedly using it as an excuse to give this to you guys because I've been actually really antsy wanting to post it. I'm kind of in love with this universe right now and I waited too long to even start writing it, haha. So, yeah, have this as a present! I hope you'll like it!  
> What you need to know: I swear I'm not letting this one run as long as my last NoiAo fanfic, and if you read that monster, I'm Sorry and feel free to come collect your fifteen dollars at my house. Also, I've really tweaked the canon and twisted things around here and I'm planning to flesh things out slowly as we go. I really hope you'll like this universe.  
> Characters and relationships will be tagged as they appear, and the rating will likely not change. I'll let you know about any change of plans. The release of the second chapter... Well, I'll see how you'll react to the first one! Then, we will talk about periodicity ( ´ ♡ ` )  
> Your usual disclaimer: Unbeta-ed work, and my first language is not English. I'm open to corrections, just let me know where the mistakes are, specifically.  
> Ahem. Without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy this prologue!
> 
> [Warning: Suicide scenario/mention]

The sun shines down amidst wispy white clouds hanging from the blue sky, but the morning breeze is chilly. The trees around Midorijima High School rustle as if shuddering in the winter's lingering cold, spring not quite settled yet.

A yawn resounds in the empty hallway. The open glass windows lining up the wall pour mild morning light into the tiled floor, throwing a long shadow behind a lone, wandering figure.

In any other day of the trimester, these classrooms would be bustling with life, but today is different. It's the entrance ceremony day, so everyone's in the gym, listening to very long, very boring speeches and losing the feeling in their butts from sitting on those plastic chairs for too long, probably.

Everyone except Aoba, who's (lazily) braving through the deserted corridors and looking over the classrooms to find the entrance ceremony fugitive he's been ordered to find. Once outside the gym, he opened his gakuran's jacket, and is now traipsing around with hands tucked into his pockets, sporadically scratching his hair.

It's spring, alright. But it isn't cool like in the anime that airs on TV or pictures Aoba usually sees from bigger cities in the mainland. And that's because there are no cherry blossom trees in the Old Residential District. None. Or at least, that's what Aoba is inclined to believe, since he never saw one in real life. Besides, spring is when classes are back. Who even likes that?

 _Maybe there're some here in the Platinum District_ , Aoba thinks idly. Cherry blossom trees, that is. Aoba can't be sure; other than attending school here, he's never ventured too deep into these corners. Damn, had school not been here, he wouldn't even step foot in this place—it always gave him the chills.

It might've been eighteen years since Platinum Jail fell, but it's still the prim and luxurious part of Midorijima, attracting loads of tourists who want to kick back and relax at the resorts and beaches lining the coast. However, it isn't really a place for most islanders; there are some stores they aren't even welcome at. One may think they'd be more offended by that, but that's just how things have rolled out and no one questions it.

After all, if the stories are correct, people must've taken to the idea of a snobbish district quite easily. The past alternative had been an entertainment center commanded by a megalomaniac planning to brainwash the entire populace of Midorijima and the rest of the world thereafter. Not that those tourists know anything about this.

Aoba snorts, hands tucked into his pants' pockets. If it weren't recent history with witnesses and pictures to prove its veracity, he'd have a hard time believing it too.

Having checked the first year's classrooms, Aoba stops at the stairwell leading to the next floor. He sighs with an impatient twist of his lips; where the heck is this kid?

"Ren really takes advantage of my goodwill," Aoba grumbles without heat, climbing the flight of stairs sluggishly. "Why the hell am I stuck here looking for some first-year punk? Though I'm glad I don't have to sit through that ceremony for once."

When Aoba clears the second-year classrooms, he already has a good idea of where the little delinquent must be. Thus, he climbs more stairwells and passes by the third-year classrooms without much more than a cursory glance.

 _"No trespassing: Students not allowed"_ are the words scrawled menacingly on a small white board, hanging on the metal door at the end of the dark stairwells. Just like Aoba suspected, the door is cracked open. _So it's a lock-picking one, huh?_ Aoba can almost sigh wistfully.

To this cheeky first-year, that locked door probably looked like a challenge; who cares if it's windy as hell up there and still too cold for that shit? It's not that he doesn't understand, Aoba was like that too once, but he thought everyone left that rebellious impulse behind at junior high.

"Alright, little first-year," Aoba drones as he kicks the door open unceremoniously, using his forearm to shield his narrowed eyes from the blinding daylight. "You've had your fill of fun, so let's-"

Aoba stops in his tracks as his vision grows accustomed to the light. He drops his arm and finds himself pinned down by a pair of emerald-green eyes.

A good few feet away from Aoba is a guy who barely looks Japanese. His eye color aside, his unruly short hair shines a striking golden color under the sunlight. The only trace of a Japanese heritage is the faintest slant to his green eyes, which makes his gaze wield an even more piercing effect. What's more, his face and ears are _covered_ in piercings; two on his right eyebrow, a double-tipped one on the bridge of his nose and one under each corner of his lips. There are so many on his left ear that Aoba doesn't even stop to count. _What the hell kind of first-year I've been sent here to capture?_

... There's that, but the problem at hand is that the guy is very clearly sitting on the rooftop's metal railing with his back to _a four-story fall._ The one thing holding him in place is the pair of pale hands braced onto the rusty railing, his legs stretched lazily before him. Just what is he planning, leaning on this railing that _may_ have been sturdy ten years ago?

How will Aoba go about dragging this troublemaker safe and sound to the ceremony when he doesn't look willing to budge?

Now, Aoba only wonders _how_ he let himself be fooled by Ren for even a moment. He told Aoba he didn't know the first-year's name, but he's the goddamned student council president, he _has_  to know. Surely, this guy must have some weird, complicated name, like Russian or German, and Ren knew Aoba would bail out the moment he heard it.

Mixed kids aren't uncommon in Midorijima, but when one shows up out of nowhere like this, Aoba has to wonder, does this guy even _speak_ Japanese? His English grades are _not_ good enough for this. Aoba's tongue feels too big in his mouth, and he fumbles for the right words as he takes one step closer.

"E-e-excuse me?" He starts hesitatingly in heavily accented English. The first-year watches him impassively. "What is you...r name?"

The first-year keeps on leveling him with a blank expression, but he lets out a small huff through his nose. It takes Aoba a second to register the brief flaring of his nostrils and another one to question whether that was an impatient sigh or a contemptuous snort.

It's long enough for the boy to turn his placid face to the sky and lean backwards on the railing.

The scene in front of Aoba seems to unfold in slow motion, his feet frozen to the ground. A chilly wind whips soundlessly through the rooftop, throwing back Aoba's long hair in a powerful impulse. As the first-year falls, short strands of hair bristle around his face, blue sky clouding his empty green eyes.

In that one second, Aoba's stunned brain doesn't process the movement for what it means, but rather for how it looks. His eyes are stuck in the shimmer of lights and colors, ears unhearing.

_How beautiful._

The spell is broken in his next heartbeat. Aoba lets out a surprised shout and jumps a step forward automatically, hand outstretched. But the kid is already halfway down and Aoba is not close enough. _He's falling, and I won't make it. He's gonna die right in front of me. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Aoba's eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritted as he braces himself for the sound of a body smashing down on the ground dozens of feet below.

_What am I gonna do? Ren told me to grab this guy and now he's falling because I couldn't stop him? W-wait, what happens if they think I killed him?! I'm in such deep shit, holy-_

After five seconds of nothing but the faint noise coming from the gym and the whistling of the wind, Aoba cracks one eye open.

First, Aoba looks at the open blue skies where the boy used to be.

Then, his gaze drops to the railing, where he sees a pair of legs hooked to it by the bend of their knees, pale hands still clutched to the rusty metal.

It's a split second until he fully assimilates the meaning of this and Aoba doesn't recognize his voice in the nearly pained sigh of relief that leaves his lips. He feels his eyes burn with tears, in fact, but they quickly subside in the face of surging rage.

"What the hell was that for? I almost had a heart attack!" Aoba growls furiously, taking wide strides towards the first-year and no longer caring whether he's understood or not.

Feeling marginally relieved he got to the kid before he could actually slip and fall, Aoba closes his fists on the first-year's jacket and pulls him up roughly, coming face to face with the weird delinquent.

The younger boy looks just as unperturbed as before, eyes bright even in the shadows thrown over his features. Aoba feels slight regret at having pulled him so close, with their noses one inch short of touching and a strong gaze boring into him.

"Would it hurt to fall from up here?" The boy asks in clear Japanese, voice low and even.

"No?! You'd just crack your skull and die in the same instant, you idiot brat!" Aoba answers without pause, realizing half a second later that the guy actually spoke his language.

The first-year scoffs at Aoba, who frowns immediately.

"Why are you so riled up?"

"You sure are full of stupid questions," Aoba remarks with an irritated grin. "I don't want to see someone die right in front of me."

The boy answers him with nothing more than a minutely raised eyebrow. Then, without warning, his body sags completely and he releases the railing, tipping backwards once more. Aoba yelps, firming his hold on him and taking all of his weight, righting him up again.

"What the fuck?!"

"If I died that'd be my own fault. You have nothing to do with it," he reasons matter-of-factly, a harsher undertone to his voice.

"You say that when I'm holding you?!"

The first-year shrugs. "Then let me go. It's not your responsibility."

"No no no no no, the police would definitely not say that," Aoba counters nervously.

The boy sighs in annoyance and pushes off from the railing, springing up to his full height. The movement is so sudden Aoba tumbles backwards, falling on his bottom with a wince.

" _Ow_... What was th-"

Aoba inhales sharply as the first-year bends at the waist, his face threateningly looming over Aoba's in one swift move.

"Don't show up in front of me again."

The words leave the blond's lips clear and cutting, green eyes just as sharp, drilling into Aoba's shocked hazel ones. A glint of silver catches Aoba's attention for the first time as the first-year speaks, and he hesitatingly lets his gaze slide away from the other's, glimpsing the small metal ball on his tongue.

Just as fast as Aoba sees the piercing, it disappears behind thin lips. The first-year straightens up and sidesteps Aoba, leaving him shell-shocked on the floor. The past five-or-so minutes play in Aoba's mind, and he still can't quite make sense of everything that's happened. He... just stopped a foreign first-year student from falling off the goddamn school rooftop at the entrance ceremony day, and the kid proceeds to threaten him?

The creak of the heavy door opening snaps Aoba out of his trance and he twists to look behind him, lips twisting around a snarl.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're...?!"

The end of his sentence is stifled by the loud "clang" of the door banging shut.

 

* * *

 

"You're late," Ren doesn't chide but rather comments flatly as Aoba doubles over in front of him, gasping and panting with his hands on his knees.

Aoba finally looks up with a furious glare. "I'm never doing anything you ask me again!"

Ren's plain golden eyes blink at him, brows arched quizzically. Around them there's a flurry of people; first-years are ambling about with their families on their heels, mothers pestering their children to take pictures in front of the school gate. Aoba doesn't see _him_ anywhere, which is only natural; the punk probably just left school after that incident in the rooftop. Where's this guy's mom to smack some sense into him?

He's going to be completely lost around school tomorrow and Aoba vows to not move a finger to help him.

"Aoba? What are you talking about?" Ren asks when Aoba fails to elaborate on his sudden outburst.

Aoba straightens up, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Thanks to _you_ , I was almost roped into assisting the suicide of a fifteen-year-old edgelord!"

A mother tosses a glare towards Aoba while passing by the two third-years. He ignores her in favor of scowling at his twin brother.

"I'm sure I only asked you to bring him back," Ren says slowly, an eyebrow quirked up. "It didn't look like anything dangerous had been happening when he returned, though I _was_ worried when I didn't see you with him."

Aoba's brows knitted in faint surprise. "Wait, you're saying he actually went back to the gym?"

"He did," Ren confirms, the previous confusion in his face softening into its usual polite blankness. "However, he was gone as soon as the ceremony was over. It was good that he wasn't the class representative or his absence would've been troublesome."

Aoba snorts. "Have you seen him? Even if he had the highest score at the entrance exam, the principal would have a heart attack at having a punk like that climb to the podium. It's bad even for a school like ours."

Ren stays silent, black hair swaying softly in the breeze as he looks over Aoba's head, at the school gate.

"Even in a school full of misfits he stands out," Ren said, almost cryptically.

Aoba blinks. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"I was watching him, especially after he returned. He's not simply apathetic; he stared blankly at the stage and I wondered once or twice if he was even breathing. It didn't look like his family came with him either."

"... And what am I supposed to do with that information?" Aoba snorts after a brief pause. "Are you assigning me as his babysitter? He even told me to fuck off loud and clear, you know. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

Remembering the little situation on the roof, Aoba mentally questions the words as soon as they leave his lips. Ren is oblivious to his brief conflict and laughs breathily.

"No, I didn't intend to make him seem pitiful either. I just have to make such observations, as a senpai and the student council president," Ren says, smiling sheepishly.

Aoba punches his arm lightly. "No need for that anymore, you'll be stepping down in a few months. Worry about your exams and getting into university. The first-years have three whole years to get their shit together; that's more than enough even for that guy."

Ren doesn't seem too satisfied with his answer and looks about to protest, but someone jumps on him from behind, wrapping arms around his neck like vines. The boy stumbles a couple of steps forward with a huff of shock.

"Ren, I finally found you!" is the soothing drawl heard as the girl hugging Ren drops her chin on his shoulder. Her face is tilted to the side, as if trying to peer into Ren's face.

"Clara... Hello," Ren greets with a hesitant smile, steadying his stance under the girl's weight. She probably doesn't notice the faint stiffness in his voice, but his polite act never really worked with Aoba, who grins mischievously at the sight.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone. See you later, Ren!" Aoba waves at them before turning on his heel, ignoring the silent cry for help in Ren's eyes.

Clara is a third-year like them, and, like everyone in the Old Residential District who bothers with their education, they have been studying together their whole life. There's only one elementary school, one middle school and one high school in the entire island, so all the kids grow up together. That's been a great arrangement for Clara... but not so much for Ren.

Aoba chances a glance over his shoulder, seeing Clara still hanging off Ren with a vice grip while the boy tries to discreetly disengage, smiling and nodding at everything she says. There's also some other boys from third and second year throwing them jealous and envious looks and they pass by.

Ren tries to accommodate for Clara as best as he can, since she's not a bad person and they _are_ friends, but Aoba knows him to be the kind of guy who likes his peace and quiet. He never knew how to deal with Clara's _slightly_ aggressive advances, her sudden hugs and unending monologues. What's more, Clara has always been incredibly popular; she's smart, well-spoken and beautiful, with silky pale-blonde hair falling to her hips, sharp grape-colored eyes and a tall, curvy figure that turns most boys into blushing messes during P.E. class. That has earned Ren enemies just as much as admirers; either way, it's all unwanted attention for him.

Aoba turns his eyes back forward and heads to the bike racks, off to the side of the school building. The small parking station is comprised of two shelters across from one another, semi-filled with rows of bicycles and mopeds. Given the early hour, the shade of the corrugated roof tiles is tilted at an odd angle over the bikes, and the spotty mosaic of surrounding trees doesn't quite reach it yet.  

Only when Aoba's feet step off the rustling grass and onto the concrete slab does he remember he hasn't seen Mizuki after the ceremony. Aoba stops on his tracks and sighs, momentarily chastising himself for being so flustered over that first-year he failed to notice Mizuki's absence; he should've asked Ren about it. Mizuki's not getting into trouble again, is he?

 _I also forgot to ask Ren about that kid's name._ Aoba touches his chin pensively, looking up at the tree branches whispering softly in the wind.

And then he stops.

_WHY AM I STILL THINKING ABOUT HIM?! Get a grip, get a grip, me! He's not Ren's problem and he's definitely not my problem!_

Aoba ruffles his hair with both hands, growling in frustration to the skies above before stomping towards his bike. He's sure Mizuki must be off somewhere, probably flirting with a convenience store cashier while he's here, worrying like an idiot.

Right now, Aoba wants to go home and then head over to his part-time job where he will not think about blonds with a bad attitude, no.

Having unlocked his bike, Aoba takes the handles and leads it away from the racks by foot. As much as he wants to jump on it and ride away immediately, there's still some commotion around the school gate and god knows what his teachers will do to him if he runs over some unsuspecting first-year.

Well, after almost (keyword: _almost_ ) doing so last year, he does have an idea of what would happen. He'd hate for the school administration to finally ban bikes because he had to fuck things up for everyone.

Past the gate, Aoba jumps on the bike seat and pedals away from Midorijima High School, located on the outskirts of the Platinum District, almost being spewed out by the old, proud monster. Six days a week, he unknowingly rides over where once stood the sturdy walls of the long dead Platinum Jail, but the divide still exists in a sense. The increasing distance alleviates the easy-to-ignore, but very-much-there sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The North District's barren buildings are soothing in a way that can't be objectively described. Aoba's blue hair fly unabashedly in the wind as he rides down the sloping Aoyagi Street, pedals locked and a toothy grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I'm murasakiyuzu on tumblr, feel free to come yell with/at me -v-


	2. No-Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is this, Aoba?" Ren is standing by the deserted school gate, gaze equal parts bewilderment and disappointment as he scrutinizes the dirty and scratched-up Aoba.

There's the sound of repeated beeping... or the sound of sirens blaring. Yes, definitely the last one. It grates on his eardrums, rumbles inside his chest.

A far-away voice says something in an even, dispassionate tone. In contrast to its easiness, the words demand quick action in the chaos.

_Emergency... Collapsing... Evacuation._

White walls tinged in red jostle almost vertiginously. A distant rumbling that sounds like the stampede of furious buffalos.

_"...ere is Toue?"_

_"Dead... Five minutes until... Them?"_

_"..."_

_"This wasn't p..."_

_"... Not dangerous... ey're just... Right to live."_

"... ba."

_Repeating. A threat was detected in the laboratory._

_"... Not human. They should..."_

_"They're human..."_

"... oba..."

_"From that boy's blood, they..."_

"Aoba!"

"Hgh!?"

Aoba inhales sharply, body jolting as he opens his eyes to a blob of dark, misty colors. It feels as if he just slipped and fell onto his bed, but his brain is slowly working towards the conclusion that such thing is impossible. The world around him slowly comes into focus as he lies there, breathing erratically, feeling sweat sticking to his brow and the back of his neck.

"Aoba! You're gonna be late!"

"Wha..."

Aoba blinks at the ceiling in puzzlement, turning his head on his pillow. His room is empty; the muffled voice coming from downstairs belongs to none other than his old Granny.

His gaze falls upon the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. On the black background, the "7:53" flashes in innocent neon green.

"Shit!" Aoba curses, shooting up from his bed so fast he falls to the floor flat on his face, feet tangled on his blanket. With a groan, Aoba slithers across the carpet and reaches for his towel.

"Why didn't Ren wake me up... asshole..."

Deep down, Aoba knows Ren probably tried and was either ignored or kicked by his traitorous sleeping self.

The next twenty minutes pass by Aoba in a rush of colors and sounds. He ducks away from his Granny's well aimed wooden spoon as he runs down the stairs to shower and returns upstairs under more of Granny's rapid-fire scolding. After putting on his uniform and getting his bag, Aoba loops his headphones around his neck and attempts to leave without eating, but his ever-energetic grandma pushes him down on a seat at the kitchen table.

"You're not leaving this house before you fill up your stomach," she grouches, dumping a bowl of miso soup, another with rice and a plate with grilled fish in front of him. "I won't haul your skinny ass from the sidewalk if you black out on your way to school."

Aoba doesn't waste time thinking of how quicker it'd be if he just had toast and a cup of coffee and picks up his chopsticks. He positively _inhales_ his food, ignoring the heat on the back of his neck from his Granny's nagging to _wake up earlier so you don't have to eat so fast it's the third time this week what if you get sick_ , and heaves his bag to his shoulder.

"I'm off!" Aoba yells behind himself as he runs out of the kitchen.

"Take care," his Granny grumbles with the softest touch of fondness to her grave voice.

Sliding the door shut behind him, Aoba rushes to grab his bike, unlocking it with nervous fingers before hopping on the saddle and kicking off on his pedals.

The center of the Old Residential District never sleeps, and it's just becoming restless at this time of the morning. When Aoba leaves the quiet back street where his home is located, his senses are nearly overwhelmed by the noise and the vibrant colors of crooked buildings growing on top of one another.

Aoyagi Street pulses like part of a living organism and it suits Aoba's hectic mood as he smartly steers the bike wheel away from unaware pedestrians. He lets the booming of the news broadcast pass by him with the wind and ignores any possible acquaintances as he pedals at full tilt, tangled hair lashing out around his face.

Everything comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the North District. A flurry of black and white comes running from the corner of the street—and right into Aoba's path of destruction.

Amidst blurring colors, a pair of wide rosy eyes turn to Aoba in almost unsettling sharpness.

" _Careful_ _—_ _!_ "

A heavy crash echoes down the nearly vacated area. The small crows sitting on the power lines overhead fly in a gust of flapping wings and black feathers, cawing in startled offense.

 

* * *

 

Aoba laughs awkwardly.

"What is this, Aoba?" Ren is standing by the deserted school gate, gaze equal parts bewilderment and disappointment as he scrutinizes the dirty and scratched-up Aoba. Despite the swirl of emotions in his eyes, his voice is its usual calm monotone.

"We had a little accident on our way here..." Aoba explains, sheepish, scratching the back of his head. His eyes float towards the clock on the school tower, and widen immediately. "Oh crap, homeroom starts in five minutes! I'll tell you everything later, just... Take care of this guy for me? Pretty please? I'm sorry!"

Ren only has time to flap his lips uselessly before Aoba is practically pushing the white-haired boy beside him into Ren's arms.

"This guy... Uh, what's your name?" Aoba asks, looking at their kouhai.

"C-Clear," the boy answers, taking one careful step out of Ren's personal space and gingerly nestling his left hand against his chest.

Aoba blinks. "What a weird name. _Anyway_ , Clear seems to have hurt his hand somehow, so can you drop him at the nurse's office, Ren? I swear I didn't run him over, I'm so sorry, but the teacher will really kill me if I don't get there _right now_ -"

Ren sighs, already resigned to cleaning up after his brother. "Just go, it's fine."

Aoba beams at Ren. "Thank you, I'm treating you to that burger place this weekend! It's a promise! Bye!"

Ren watches Aoba jump on his battered bike again and rush to the racks, sighing a second time.

"I'm... really sorry," Clear says, looking at the ground.

Despite being a first-year, the boy is almost the same height as Ren—though he seems to be trying to make himself as small as possible. Aoba wasn't there for most of the entrance ceremony, so of course he didn't know. Apparently, he almost ran over the first-year's representative.

Ren tries for a sympathetic smile.

"It's not your fault. Will you explain to me what happened?"

The boy raises his head to look at him, eyebrows slightly upturned in distress. Ren takes a moment to survey his appearance; Clear is slender and tall for a fifteen-year-old, pale skin flushed with exertion and, possibly, nervousness. A mop of shaggy white hair sits atop his head and frames his delicate features. His eyes are a pale rose color, expressive to a fault. And they clearly seem intimidated now.

"It's okay," Ren reassures him, settling one hand on the first-year's back and gently pushing him towards the school's entrance. "You won't get Aoba in trouble."

The boy lets himself be led into the school, but remains silent. Ren moves alone to his class' section of shoe boxes and quickly changes out of his outdoor shoes. When he weaves back through the aisles to retrieve Clear, however, he finds the first-year staring at his closed box, still cradling his injured hand.

"Excuse me." Ren steps closer and opens Clear's shoe box. He'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel reluctant to touch someone else's shoes, but the box is actually quite clean.

Clear quickly becomes flustered, looking keen on protesting, but he stays quiet as Ren goes down on one knee in front of him.

"I'm really, _really_ sorry," Clear apologizes again. Ren prompts him to lift one foot at a time so he can slide his shoes off.

"As I said, it's not your fault. It's best not to jostle your hand right now."

Ren carefully slips the off-white indoor shoes on Clear's feet.

"It is partly my fault," Clear admits when they've moved away from the shoe boxes. "I was running late and wasn't paying attention to where I was going. When I realized, Seragaki-senpai was right in front of me with his bike. He turned away right in time, but I fell while trying to avert him, and he slammed right into some trashcans."

At that, Clear shows Ren a faint smile. "Despite all this, he actually saved me when he showed up. We had to run a bit too, but if he hadn't given me a ride here, I wouldn't have made it in time."

"You'll still lose the first periods while you're at the infirmary, though," Ren points out as they near the nurse's office.

"Yes, but it's not as bad as being tardy," Clear reasons, and Ren notices the more relaxed set of his shoulders. His expression, previously tight with nerves, is now opening slowly.

Ren knocks on the infirmary door before sliding it open. The nurse, Yoshie-sensei, spins on her chair to look at the students.

"Seragaki-kun, it's almost time for homeroom," she alerts him in her thick, pompous voice, looking at them owlishly through her oval-shaped glasses.

"I know, sensei. I'm just leading this first-year; he had a little accident on his way here and hurt his hand."

"Oh, poor thing!" Yoshie-sensei laments, heaving her plump figure from her swivel chair. She motions for Clear to show her his hand and holds it carefully, perusing it briefly before raising her gaze back towards Ren.

"You should go back now, Seragaki-kun. I'll make sure this boy's homeroom teacher knows about this." Her round face is lit up in a kind smile, and Ren nods.

"Alright then. Thank you, sensei."

Ren bows sharply and turns to leave.

"Ah!"

Clear's sudden gasp causes Ren to stop and look back at him in mild surprise. The first-year struggles to voice his thoughts.

"Ah, um... Thank you, senpai."

Ren blinks slowly as Clear bows his head at him, the most he can do when he's turned only halfway towards the door and the nurse is still holding his injured hand.

"It was nothing. Take care." Ren ducks his head in response and steps out of the room, sliding the door shut before turning in the direction of the stairs.

Ren doesn't know what to make of the unfamiliar warmth that surged in his chest from Clear's earnest gratitude, so he shelves it away entirely, to later or never think about it again, focusing on getting to the fourth floor before the bell rings.

 

* * *

 

"Damn, my bike sure got pretty banged up..."

Aoba sighs, steering his unfortunate bicycle out through the school gate with the mass of other going-home-club students. Wobbling dangerously, but his bike held out bravely over the remainder of his journey to school in the morning. He's sure he has put quite the strain on the thing, though, so he's kind of expecting it to crumble in front of his eyes at any second. It'd be sad; he's had this bike since he was thirteen.

The first few meters after he sits on the saddle and pushes away from school, he pedals slowly, wary of pushing his luck. However, laziness eventually overpowers caution as he decides to ride down the slope of Aoyagi Street instead of safely getting off the bicycle and walking it.

Aoba fears the chain will fall off midway through his descent and send him flying off his bicycle and the damn thing is still wobbling more than it should, he _knows_. Despite all odds, however, both he and his bike make it to plain ground in one piece. In the deep-space silence of the North District, only Aoba's heart is hammering in his ears from the thrill, like he just went skydiving instead of riding a decrepit bike down the street. Unable to resist, Aoba lets out a "yes!" that echoes off the grey buildings like the rumble of a gong.

But karma, it seems, is faster than an ungoverned bike running down an incline. Not even two minutes later, Aoba feels the bicycle is _dragging_ and heavy, and he looks down to see his front tire flattening steadily.

"Oh man," Aoba grumbles under his breath and clutches the brakes, hopping off the saddle. He holds the bike in place and crouches down to assess the damage.

The tire has some sort of slash on it, seemingly worn thin until the air eventually started leaking out. Aoba can definitely try and power through home, but that'll definitely wreck the inner tube and rim of his tire, and he can't risk an accident in Aoyagi Street either, what with the cars and motorbikes running up and down.

Resigned, Aoba tucks his bag into the bike's basket and pushes it the rest of the way, out of the North District.

Aoba knows home by the noise, and at this time of the day, it's at its _noisiest_. Aoyagi Street is silent and grey when he rides down the Northern District, but as soon as he nears the intersection that leads into the Southern District and divides East and West, his surroundings transform. Music plays from ten or twenty different places and salespeople stand in front of their stores yelling from their microphones, trying to draw the attention of any potential buyer in the steady current of heads and feet moving up and down the sidewalks.

It's usually fun to ride down this lively street until he has to take a turn towards home, but as he is now, he's looking to get run over on the road or clog the movement in the sidewalks and earn the rage of window-shoppers. So Aoba goes into the side streets, contenting himself with the drip-dropping of old pipes poking out of murky-green walls.

For a while, Aoba is accompanied only by the rattling of his bike's chain and the sound of his own wet footsteps. He's taking the dark and quiet streets on purpose, so he is reasonably startled when a random guy slams into his bike's side and nearly topples him to the ground while running out of the nearest alley.

"Ow, what the hell?!" Aoba snaps, but the guy is already twenty steps into the opposite alley, not even looking behind his back.

Aoba huffs, stepping a bit closer and turning his head to look into the alley from which that guy came out.

Truthfully, Aoba doesn't know what he was expecting to see, but what he was definitely _not_ expecting is the blond first-year from the entrance ceremony running towards him. No, not period; the blond first-year running towards him with _seven other guys_  on his heels.

Aoba feels slightly better when the brat seems just as surprised as he is when he closes in. However, his wide-eyed expression quickly crumples into a shallow scowl.

_Wait. Oh yeah, he did tell me not to show my face around him anymore, didn't he?_

The blond slows to a jog until he stops in front of Aoba, who suddenly realizes he's blocking the exit. Yet, he doesn't move, caught in that guy's green glare. Is he going to try and kill Aoba right here? Sort of unfair, considering _he's_ the one slinking around his neighborhood.

"Where's the other guy?" he asks Aoba, voice cutting like heavy rain.

"... Huh?"

The first-year narrows one eye, lips curling with irritation. "What's with the ugly mug? I said-"

"Watch out!"

Aoba cries out and jumps away with his bike, just opening space for the first-year to turn back and dodge from the swiping cut of a knife, brandished by the first of the pursuers to reach him.

The speed of his leap throws Aoba to the ground, taking his bike down with him. He winces as it falls on top of him, but there's no time to lie there. As soon as he's fallen in the middle of the street, the first-year is stepping back and ducking away from his assailant's blows. That guy's partners, too, are bleeding out of the alley and into the street as well, rounding them up.

Less than gracefully, Aoba moves out of the way with hands gripped tight to his bicycle's handle and saddle. He succeeds in stumbling back across the street, though he nearly cracks his skull on the ground when his bike gets stuck in the opposite alley's narrow entrance. The wind is knocked out of Aoba when he falls on his back into the dingy alley, eyes squeezed shut opening to the distant blue sky peeking through unending walls.

In that moment, with his heart hammering in his chest and stars popping in his vision, Aoba looks at his options.

First option: he runs away from this potentially dangerous situation. However, he'd have to leave his bike behind, and honestly, Aoba's not fond of any ideas involving him waking up an hour earlier every day until his next paycheck and then spending a third of it on a new bicycle.

Second option: he stays with his prized bike, and helps his troublesome little kouhai. Something tells him that's the morally applaudable thing to do.

However, he might die. Yeah, there's this downside.

Aoba forces himself to sit up, groaning and ignoring the dampness seeping into his uniform. As the images before him come into focus, Aoba is surprised to find that the first-year is putting up quite the fight. He's relentlessly dodging the knife cutting the air as well as swerving away from the other guys' grabby hands, seeking out to restrain him for their leading attacker. They scream in support for the guy, calling him "Hiroto".

"Really, that's way too dangerous," Aoba mutters to himself.

"Hey, Noiz-san, how 'bout a deal?!" The knife-wielding guy, Hiroto, yells out, speaking for the first time. Aoba nearly flinches in surprise. "You don't show your face in the arcades anymore and we agree to let you off the hook, how's that?!"

 _Noiz... Didn't I hear this name before...? Wait, the Rhyme champion people have been talking about around school was_ this _guy all along?_

Aoba looks on with a disgruntled expression as Noiz remains impassive, solely concentrating in ducking away from the knife. Hiroto laughs at his silence, pale face warping around a sneer.

"C'mon, we told you we've been aiming for that prize money for six months and you're kind of raining in our parade. _Cooperate!_ "

Hiroto's soft voice morphs into a growl as he stabs the knife where Noiz's face had been a fraction of a second before. The blade whispers less than five centimeters away from Noiz's right cheek as he dodges to the side and grabs his assailant's wrist. Without skipping a beat, Hiroto reaches for something in his pocket.

Aoba means to shout, but it leaves him as a strangled gasp.

As soon as Noiz loosens the hold on Hiroto's wrist in order to jump back, he brings down the blade, slashing Noiz's palm. Noiz staggers backwards as Hiroto drops the hand with the bloody knife and grins uncontrollably, bursting out in laughter as he slips his other hand out of his pocket, empty.

_Oh hell._

"Hey, you better stop right there!" Aoba yells out, and even he's surprised at the sureness in his voice. He raises his phone and he swears, his hand is not trembling, no. "I took pictures just now and I'm gonna call the police. I'm not fucking kidding!"

Noiz gives him a sidelong glance while Hiroto stops laughing, but keeps a smirk in his face as he regards Aoba.

"If you were calling the police, you'd have done so already. You know that jackass Akushima would drop every single one of us behind bars before asking questions. You won't call."

"Oh yeah? Try me, asshole," Aoba nearly laughs in his nervousness, turning the screen towards him as he presses the dial button.

Hiroto's expression falls flat, lips pressed in a thin line and eyes narrowed at Aoba. Then, his brown irises slide to the side.

"Nico, get him."

Aoba falters. _Oh, right, I forgot he could do that._

Nico, apparently, walks out of the circle at Hiroto's word, creeping towards the alley. Noiz tentatively moves to escape through the gap he left, but the other two guys on the line level him with an unblinking gaze, alert. In the alley, Aoba breathes deeply, chest trembling as the dirty-blond steps over his bike and closes in on him.

Aoba steps back, letting the hand with the phone fall slightly. Nico lunges at him.

Praying the case will protect it, Aoba whips his hand down and flings his phone to the ground. He sees Nico's eyes follow it on its way down.

Aoba seizes his opening with a sharp kick to the guy's chin, grinning wildly as Nico crumbles to the ground, gone cold.

Hiroto's right eye twitches. Noiz looks on with an eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk on his lips. With his foot placed firmly on the ground once again, Aoba huffs and assumes a defensive stance, hands tucked close to his body and one foot before the other.

"Send your next one, hot shit!"

Noiz actually _laughs_ at that; it's breathy and short, most likely _mocking_ , but a laugh nevertheless. Hiroto snarls, but then something flashes in his eyes and the corner of his lips tugs upwards. Noiz stiffens almost imperceptibly.

Aoba turns and jumps backwards just in time to escape a reaching hand.

"What have you been up to, Hiroto?"

A young man with long black hair stands behind two other people, one of whom is the girl who just tried to make a grab for Aoba's hair. The other one is the guy Aoba saw running away earlier. _Well, shit._

"Just setting a problematic little no-mark straight, business as usual," Hiroto drawls out, nonchalantly pushing a strand of his red hair behind his ear.

Aoba snarls at the newcomers, who start closing in on him and forcing him out of the alley and into the street. The black-haired man rolls his eyes.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't call us out here because of a little personal feud. And pass me that knife, you have no business using one."

Hiroto flinches but quickly recovers his poise, glaring at the guy who had apparently called reinforcements. "I asked for more people, but I didn't mean to drag the second-in-command here. Sorry, Takato."

Hiroto sheathes the knife and throws it well above everyone's head. The girl with Takato leaps up and catches it easily, passing it to their second-in-command with a feline grin. Aoba realizes that, besides the three, there are four people coming from both directions of the street and closing the circle around him and Noiz.

"You're really stupid," Noiz says with his back against Aoba's. Honestly, he can't say he disagrees.

"They're both no-marks?" Takato asks. Hiroto blinks, becoming visibly flustered.

"Uh, I was only after the foreign-looking one. This other guy showed up out of nowhere and I..."

Takato clicks his tongue, which elicits a slight jolt from Hiroto. "Idiot. Hey, you with the blue hair," he calls out, eyes trained on Aoba. "What Rib team you're with?"

Aoba gives him a withering glare.

"I'm not in Rib."

Takato raises his brows. A heartbeat passes, then, "You're both plenty strong, though. If that's the case, won't you join us?"

"Sorry, not interested," Aoba rejects him outright, sneering.

"Same," Noiz echoes flatly behind him.

Takato watches them for a few silent seconds, then closes his eyes and shrugs. "Your call. No one will care about what happens to one or two no-marks." He looks at Hiroto, turning halfway around to leave through the same alley he came. "Do whatever you want with them, just don't-"

"Now, now, what's this commotion about?"

It's a loud, but calmly spoken question. Aoba can say, without shadow of doubt, that he's never been happier to hear Mizuki's voice.

Takato twists back around and looks over his teammates' heads to see the arriving figure. Donning a black gakuran like Aoba and Noiz's, his mop of burgundy hair shifts ever so slightly as he approaches to the circle, flanked by ten other people.

"You're Dry Juice's leader, Mizuki," Takato states. The name sends his teammates in a frenzy of hushed murmurs. Hiroto pales.

The man himself grins confidently in response, pearly white teeth contrasting his brown skin, hands tucked into his pants' pockets.

"Glad to know you didn't forget me. How's that useless leader of yours been? Takato, Scratch's second-in-command."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rly liked this chapter when i wrote it but i was about to Self Destruct while revising so take this away from me aha hahha h a hah  
> anyway, how do u all feel abt me torturing mizuki in my last fic and making him a Feared Shounen Manga Bishounen in this one? im lovin it bc i do love mizuki and hes rly beautiful  
> this chapter was very shounen manga. w some hints of shoujo. actually this entire fic is quite shoujo i hope ur into that.  
> AND CLEAR BOY IS HERE TOO so beauty? such soft? (renkuri vibes? mmm) the milkshake is bringing all the boys to the yard keep tuned  
> till next update! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	3. Danse Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your bike is even more bent out of shape than earlier, you look like you've been rolling around in the mud and I'm pretty sure I'm seeing blood under your nails and staining your shoes. Also, I saw you called me while I was in a council meeting. You better tell me the truth outright so we can-"  
> "We don't need to do anything, don't say weird things!"

"How's that useless leader of yours been? Takato, Scratch's second-in-command."

Aoba furrows his brow, puzzled. The Scratch members become even more agitated at Mizuki's words, even turning angry scowls at him, but they fall silent once Takato opens his mouth.

"Akira wouldn't like to hear you saying that."

"Not like I'm lying, but I know you can't agree in front of the underlings. Sets a bad example and whatnot." Mizuki shrugs, and his grin dissolves into a more neutral expression. "I'd say you're too uptight, but some of your teammates seem like they could use a lesson on limits. You know where we are right now, don't you?"

Takato blinks, forehead creasing lightly. For the first time, Aoba can see he looks troubled.

"Your turf, I'm guessing."

Mizuki smiles again, like a teacher receiving the correct answer from a student.

"That's right. When I was told about the little tumult happening here, I really didn't expect you to be involved."

Takato considers his words for a moment, then his features smooth out and he lets the lightest of smiles drape itself on his lips.

"It's been some time since I've come here. I didn't know you had taken over this area."

"Oh, I see. That's an honest mistake; I know your base is mainly in the South's Kisaragi now. It's been a long time since we were in contact last and my team grew even larger since then."

Aoba watches the exchange with a vague sense of nausea. _Why do I feel so many poorly-veiled intentions behind their words? God I hate when Mizuki gets like that._

Takato keeps his diplomatic smile in place as he relents, "We've become a bit too reclusive, yeah. My teammates became overly excited chasing a no-mark into your territory and it seems a fight involving a second no-mark ensued. I apologize for that; we'll take them with us and leave."

Mizuki's smile widens almost imperceptibly, eyes pinching shut.

"I can't let you do that."

Now, Aoba is not at all fazed by Mizuki's big-man act. They've known each other since they were little kids, and Aoba knows all there is to know about Mizuki, just like Mizuki (unfortunately) knows all about him too. Aoba knows Mizuki drools in his sleep, knows that Mizuki pretends his hair is purposefully styled like this but it's just that he gave up on his untamable bed-head and lets it settle however it wants over the course of the day, and he knows Mizuki called Ren to open an olive jar for him a week ago.

Regardless of everything, Aoba can sense the tension in the air, the Scratch members stiffening and becoming alert despite being in a bigger number. Mizuki is talking right now from his place as the leader of Dry Juice, the largest and most respected Ribsteez team in the Old Residential District. So, yeah, Aoba thought, this guy must be pretty scary in these other Ribsters' eyes.

"One of them apparently made trouble for my teammates in our turf. We can't let him go that easily," Takato says, his carefully crafted smile nowhere to be found.

"Let me see them." Mizuki's voice is light as if he's making a request, but the way he advances alone into the circle, raising a hand to keep his party at bay and not waiting for a reply, makes it clear that he's _demanding_ to be let through.

And, accordingly, the line of Scratch members part before Mizuki, pushing themselves to the walls on each side of the street. Mizuki doesn't seem surprised when he locks eyes with Aoba, smiling faintly but reassuringly. _I'll get you out of this pinch_ , he seems to be saying with his sea foam green eyes, and Aoba doesn't doubt him.

Noiz shifts behind Aoba to look over his shoulder at Mizuki, and Aoba suddenly becomes aware of the boy's heat against his back again.

"Aoba doesn't wander around Kisaragi, I'm sure of that," Mizuki says.

Takato blinks, eyebrows arched minutely. "Aoba is the blond one? Because he's the one who was messing around in our territory, apparently."

Aoba's heart kicks up a race. Of course Mizuki can easily save his ass in this situation, but what about Noiz? _Maybe you should be worried about yourself, this guy clearly picked a fight with people he shouldn't have_ , a brutally rational, kinda asshole-y part of his brain tells him.

Nine out of ten times Noiz has opened his mouth to talk to Aoba, he's said something rude. Aoba's been pushed to the ground, called stupid and even threatened by Noiz, and they have only met twice. But really, from what that Hiroto guy said, Aoba doesn't think Noiz has done anything wrong.

What's more, Noiz is hurt. Takato was right when he said no one really cares for no-marks' disappearances; without a team, no one will fight to help you. Aoba can count with Mizuki the rare times things get ugly with Ribsters, but he has no idea what will happen to Noiz if he leaves him behind here. Will anyone come for him?

_"Apathetic students are hardly uncommon, but he looked... different."_

_"It didn't look like his family came with him either."_

Ren's words from three days ago ring in Aoba's ears. Despite being buried in the depths of his memory, the clarity with which they surge to the foreground of Aoba's mind shocks him.

Noiz is a detestable brat, but Aoba can't say he doesn't care about what happens to him.

Aoba subtly reaches for Noiz's hand, holding it tight even when Noiz flinches and tries to slip away from his grasp. Mizuki blinks down at their joined hands, then looks up to Aoba, who's staring at him pleadingly.

"Ah," Mizuki starts, steering his eyes towards Takato once more. "No. Aoba is the other one. And what was the problem in your area, exactly?"

Takato studies him for a moment, then turns his attention to Hiroto, who rears back slightly. When Takato tilts his head towards Mizuki, signaling Hiroto to _spit it out_ with an impassive expression, the guy ultimately relents, turning to face Mizuki.

"There'll be an event on Rhyme and we've been aiming for the prize money for months, but this guy is... making things difficult for us. We all had good scores and suddenly, this 'Noiz' guy is toppling us down from the podium, and we find out he's been playing in Kisaragi. So we're just settling things."

"Oh, I see," Mizuki says pensively. "So this is about Rhyme... Kind of a stupid reason, but there's money involved, so I can kind of get that, I guess."

Mizuki sighs, then crosses his arms, smiling beatifically.

"But I'm sorry, Takato. I really can't let you take these guys with you. You see, even if they're no-marks, they're under Dry Juice's protection."

Takato knits his brows, growing increasingly exasperated. "That's not a thing."

"It is, though," Mizuki counters, unwavering. "The reason Dry Juice is so big is because we're not kids picking meaningless fights; we provide protection to those who come to us and their loved ones. It's important for me to protect Aoba, since he's my childhood friend. Oh, and his boyfriend too, because, you know, one-package deal."

Aoba blushes up to his ears, lips pressing shut so he won't cuss out Mizuki right here and now. _That fucking asshole..._

"Noiz, uh, moved here recently, so I'm sure he just didn't know Kisaragi was your territory. There're other arcades in Umezane and Okuyama that would be okay to frequent. You'll go there instead, right, Noiz?"

Noiz, turned halfway towards Mizuki, shrugs one shoulder.

"What a lovely guy," Mizuki muses to himself, then moves his gaze back to Takato. "There, it's settled. Noiz won't stick his nose around your turf anymore. I'm sure Scratch can overlook it this once, right? I'll overlook the commotion today as well; after all, despite our present distance, we have history together."

Takato sighs, defeated. "Of course. Akira and I haven't forgotten about that."

Mizuki nods approvingly, then gives Hiroto a glance. "I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about him beating your score in that game. All you can do is, well, get good, I guess."

Hiroto makes a sour face and Mizuki laughs boisterously, seemingly very satisfied with himself. Aoba looks on with a long-suffering deadpan; this guy is a pain to have as a friend but even worse as a simple acquaintance.

Takato seems to have the same opinion, because he sighs again, looking physically and mentally exhausted as he moves away from the alley's entrance. The line of people across from where Mizuki is situated parts before Takato as he saunters into it.

"Everyone, we're going back. Mizuki, I'll see you around."

Mizuki scoffs. "That's what you said almost three years ago!"

Takato's not even facing Mizuki anymore when he simply waves. The other Scratch members follow him closely behind and scatter into the many alleys, until the remaining ones disappear around the corner.

Aoba heaves a long sigh of relief into the silent street and Noiz promptly rips his hand away from his grasp. However, before Aoba can whirl around and give Noiz a piece of his mind, Mizuki is walking up to his side and giving Aoba's shoulder a light punch.

"You're looking like shit!" Mizuki laughs.

"Gee, thanks," Aoba intones blandly.

"That's no way to thank your savior!" Mizuki mockingly admonishes him and juts his thumb behind himself, to where his teammates are now talking among each other. "You should also thank Nobu, he was the one making the rounds here and he called us when he saw this whole mess."

Apparently blessed with a keen sense of hearing, the man Aoba knows to be called Nobu turns his head to look at them, locking gazes with Aoba. Nobu grins brightly at him, flashing a thumbs up, to which Aoba responds in kind.

"By the way, Aoba, did you get hurt? Your hand's all bloody."

Aoba startles at Mizuki's question, first looking at his right hand, the one he has just raised to give Nobu a thumbs up. There's no trace of blood, but before he can accuse Mizuki of lying, he drops his gaze to his left hand, indeed marred with blood.

Noiz.

Aoba whips around to peer behind himself, but the blond boy is nowhere to be found. Mizuki regards Aoba quizzically as he curses under his breath.

"How's that I didn't even realize I grabbed his injured hand..."

"Uh, you're grimy all over," Mizuki points out, looking him up and down. "What's a bit of blood when you're already covered in dirt?"

Aoba sighs. He's still a bit baffled that he managed to not notice the mucky feeling in his fingers (also, he thought with a wince, that must've hurt a lot for Noiz), but most of all, he's worried. There's quite a bit of blood on his hand, and now that he looks at the ground, he can see the dark red droplets. Will Noiz be okay? Does he even know how to dress his wounds?

_...Wait, didn't I say I'm not responsible for him?! I already did my part in sticking up for him, if he leaves without saying anything, that's his own decision! I shouldn't be stressing out over him, I shouldn't..._

Aoba shakes his head, chasing away those thoughts. Mizuki seems to find Aoba's predicament amusing, leering openly until Aoba aims a knee-kick at his thigh.

"Ow! Aoba!"

"Anyway, what's that about 'boyfriend'? You're picking a fight with me?" Aoba scowls menacingly at Mizuki, who's slightly bent down clutching at his leg.

Mizuki looks genuinely confused under his pained grimace, blinking up at Aoba. "What, he's not your boyfriend? I thought you were moving on from-"

"There's nothing to move on from!"

"Ow, _ow!_ Hey, why won't none of you come save me from this brute?!"

 

* * *

 

"What's happening with you today, Aoba?"

Aoba tries for a smile, but it must look more like a cringe.

By the time Aoba gets home, Ren is already there. It seems like he just arrived himself, his school bag slung over his shoulder and still wearing his uniform. He's leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, scrutinizing Aoba's sorry appearance when he comes pushing his bike.

"Did you... actually kill someone this time?" Ren asks, actually sounding concerned.

"I didn't!" Aoba snaps, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment.

"Your bike is even more bent out of shape than earlier, you look like you've been rolling around in the mud and I'm pretty sure I'm seeing blood under your nails and staining your shoes. Also, I saw you called me while I was in a council meeting. You better tell me the truth outright so we can-"

" _We_ don't need to do anything, don't say weird things!" Aoba nearly begs him, looking around to see if any of their nosy neighbors is out watering the plants or something. "Just- just let me go inside and actually take a _bath_ , please. I feel gross."

Ren sighs, pushing himself off the wall and leading the way through the open gate. "Granny will ask."

"I know. I'll explain to both of you when I start feeling human again," Aoba says, pushing his bike up the front porch's steps and into the small alley beside the house. After locking up his bicycle, he follows Ren into their home.

"Also, you didn't get in trouble because of me this morning, right?" Aoba asks with a touch of worry in his voice, taking off his shoes at the entrance.

"No, I made it to class only one or two minutes late. The teacher didn't mind it much."

"And Clear? Do you know how he is?"

"We didn't talk after I left him at the nurse's office."

Aoba hummed to himself. "I hope it wasn't serious. I guess I'll try to find his class tomorrow."

"I know his class," Ren says evenly, and Aoba turns wide eyes towards him.

"Then why didn't you check on him?!"

Ren blinks, opening his mouth to answer but their grandma chooses that moment to emerge from the living room. She stops mid-stride at the sight of Aoba's state.

"Aoba?!" She simply gasps, apparently too stunned to even yell at him.

"Granny... hello," Aoba greets her, scratching his cheek disconcertingly.

The old woman steps closer, brows knitted in a frown. "Is it happening again? Are you..."

"I didn't kill anyone and I'm not being bullied," Aoba explains quickly, raising a hand to stop her. "I just got mixed up in something by accident. I'll explain after taking a bath."

Granny looks at him for a moment, probably searching for the lie in his expression, but then she huffs. "Alright. Give your hair a good wash; you're stinking up the _genkan_."

"Ugh, yes, I will," Aoba sighs, turning to climb the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Granny tried to hide, but she was visibly concerned when Aoba explained the unfortunate escalation of that day's events. Leaving home with a heavy "be careful" in his pocket, Aoba sighs; he hates worrying his grandmother. Heavens know how much grief he gave her during his more rebellious years. Thus, this morning, he makes sure to actually leave at a decent time so he won't be late again and steers his bike around the streets with increased carefulness.

While it's clear that his dark-pink bicycle has seen better days, at least it's still functional. He only had to change the tire and ask Haga-san, his boss, to check up on any other issues he might've not noticed. The work in the repair shop is one Aoba likes doing, and at times like these, it really comes in handy, since he can even get a discount.

Really, the only thing he'd like to complain about... is his uniform.

"You look so stupid," Mizuki wheezes, doubling over in laughter as soon as Aoba comes into the classroom.

"Shut up! I'm not the one repeating the third year!" Aoba lashes out, blushing. His uniform didn't dry before he had to go to class, so he had to wear one of Ren's old ones. While the size is about right for Aoba, Ren has always been broader than him, so Aoba looks, rightfully, a bit like a football quarterback now.

Mizuki flinches at his jab, tossing him a sullen look. "Why do you always play this card? I just missed too many classes!"

If Mizuki means to justify himself further, he never gets the change. The bell rings and their homeroom teacher is immediately sliding the door open, ordering the scattered students to their seats.

When lunch break comes along, Mizuki has already conveniently forgotten his offense. Besides the fact that Mizuki simply never takes things like that to heart, there's one big motive for this.

"Please borrow me a hundred yen, I'm dying."

"I don't have it," Aoba drones flatly, picking up a piece of _tamagoyaki_ from his lunch box. "You do this every time; you have a part-time job just like me!"

Aoba bites into it and chews, humming at the flavor with his eyes closed. Mizuki's fingers creep closer to another _tamagoyaki_ , but Aoba swats his hand away wordlessly.

Mizuki whines, "But I'm saving up money! How come you always bring lunch when you can't cook for shit?! Don' tell me Tae-san prepares it for you."

"Do you even know Granny... Ren took a liking to cooking over winter break, so he makes enough for both of us every morning."

Mizuki grunts, openly sulking at Aoba's colorful lunch. They lapse into silence, but the classroom around them is lively with loud conversations and laughter, some of their classmates eating from lunch boxes like Aoba while others are having vending machine snacks. Suddenly, Mizuki perks up, eyes bright.

"I know! Ren must have a hundred yen! I'll ask him." Mizuki gets up from the chair he's pulled to Aoba's desk.

"Oi..." Aoba starts skeptically, but then remembers.

_I was supposed to check up on Clear today._

"Ah!" Aoba jumps on his seat, accidentally hitting his knee on the bottom of the desk. Mizuki looks back at him, brows furrowed as Aoba curls up on top of his desk, clutching his knee and gritting his teeth in the pain.

"What is it?"

With his head still down, Aoba grunts, "Wait for me, I have to talk to Ren about something."

"Huh? No way, if I wait until you're finished eating, I won't have time to eat. I'm off~" Mizuki turns around and waves nonchalantly.

" _Wha_ \- you asshole!" Aoba glares at Mizuki's retreating back and digs into his lunch box in earnest, chopsticks clicking on the plastic surface.

By the time Aoba reaches Ren's classroom, Mizuki got his one hundred yen and is leaving in the direction of the vending machines with a spring in his step, humming an upbeat melody. Aoba watches him go with a slightly vexed expression.

"What is it, Aoba?" Ren asks him. Aoba turns his attention to him, face falling into more neutral lines.

"You said you know Clear's classroom, right? Let's see how he's doing."

Ren frowns. "But I haven't finished my lunch yet."

"I'll wait for you, just don't take too long," Aoba says with a grin. Ren sighs.

Five minutes later, they're taking the stairs to the first year classrooms. Ren leads the way through the sun-bathed hallways, until they stop at a doorway. Aoba blinks up at the plaque above it: Year 1 Class 10.

"Woah, he's a big deal. That's an advanced class like yours, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ren answers him before calling out to one of the students standing by the door. The other first-years look at them curiously, some whispering among each other; it's rare for third-years to visit underclassmen, especially so early in the school year.

Aoba looks over Ren's shoulder, but before he sees Clear, his eyes catch strawberry-blonde hair and a silvery glimmer.

At the farthest row, a few seats in front of Clear—who's just been called to the door and is looking at them wide-eyed—Noiz sits looking out the window, elbows braced on his desk. His chin is propped up on the palm of his hand, which is bandaged, Aoba notes. Doesn't that hurt? Or maybe his wound ended up being shallower than Aoba thought? No, but there was too much blood-

"Uh, hello," Clear greets them, peering at the two third-years with questions in his rosy eyes. Aoba sees that he, too, has his hand and wrist bandaged up.

"Hey, we wanted to check up on you," Aoba tells him somewhat softly, shuffling closer to stand beside Ren. Looking at his bandages, Aoba feels the full weight of his guilt; what would he have done if Clear had gotten seriously hurt?

Understanding dawns on Clear's face and he blushes brightly. "Oh, you didn't have to! It was just a sprained wrist, and it's my left hand so I can write just fine."

Aoba smiles weakly. "I see, that's good. Take good care of it, then."

"I will! Thank you very much!" Clear's eyes swerve between Ren and Aoba before he bows.

"A-ah, don't do that! It's alright, you don't need to thank us," Aoba says, hands flailing uselessly as he glances frantically at Clear's classmates.

Clear straightens up once again, smiling gratefully at them. He falters slightly when he focuses his gaze on Ren.

"Um, Seragaki-senpai, your teacher didn't give you a hard time for accompanying me to the nurse's office yesterday, did they?"

Aoba smiles, chagrined. _We're both 'Seragaki-senpai', you know._

"No, it was fine."

"Don't worry about this guy, he has presidential clout!" Aoba jokes, slinging an arm over Ren's shoulders.

"Aoba, don't say that," Ren mutters under his breath, embarrassment imbued in his voice.

Clear laughs, visibly relaxing. "That's good, I'm glad!"

"Well, we should go now! See you around, Clear!"

Clear waves as they walk away from his classroom. Aoba's arm drops from Ren's shoulders a moment later.

"Did something happen with you and Clear?"

Aoba expects a reaction but Ren simply blinks at him, nonplussed.

"Not anything worthy of note. Why?"

"Well, it's just... you seem to clam up even more in front of him. You're not very talkative in general, but I just had a feeling..."

Ren keeps on staring at him, as if waiting for him to reach his point, and Aoba sighs.

"Never mind, it's just a dumb impression."

Aoba yawns, stretching his arms over his head as they climb the stairs. His joints pop satisfyingly, muscles buzzing with sluggish energy.

"I can't wait to sleep through all of study hall."

Ren knits his brows. "You have study hall now?"

"Yeah, it'll be Music period. Remember that Tanioka-sensei is on sick leave?"

"But there's a new teacher. Didn't they tell your class about it?"

"Whaaat?" Aoba whines, bemoaning his missed nap time. He reaches the top of the stairs and turns back to look at Ren. "But isn't she supposed to come back next week? Why did they come up with a substitute now?"

Ren's expression turns somber. "Things took a turn for the worst. She thought it was nothing serious, but we were told she was diagnosed with cancer."

Aoba grimaces and resumes walking when Ren reaches him. "That sucks. Tanioka-sensei is my class' favorite."

"Apparently she has good chances of recovery, but she's definitely not coming back here any time soon."

"Did you get to know the new teacher?"

"Yeah, we had class with him yesterday."

"So it's a guy this time, huh- Woah!"

Aoba stops short from slamming against someone, right before turning the corner where he'll separate from Ren. He stiffens up and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact. However, the other person stops right on time as well, so they only bump lightly.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?"

Aoba's eyes flutter open at the same time he feels Ren's hands on his shoulders, pulling him three steps backwards. The stranger in front of Aoba is looking at him concernedly, holding a stack of paper sheets to his chest.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for walking around carelessly," Aoba answers without thinking, but then he stops. He doesn't think he's ever seen this guy around school before.

The worry creasing the man's brow dissolves and he smiles guilelessly. "Not at all, I am to blame as well."

"Good afternoon, sensei," Ren greets, bowing slightly.

"Good afternoon, Seragaki-kun." His eyes pinch shut when he replies Ren, then he turns his attention back to Aoba. "Are you a third year too?"

"Ah, yes. I'm from Class 1."

"Oh, I was there just now. I introduced myself and informed your classmates to come to the second music room when lunch break is over. We still don't know each other, so allow me to take this opportunity."

Standing tall in a simple suit, the blond man grins widely at Aoba, blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses shimmering in the sunlight.

"My name is Virus and I'm your new Music teacher. I hope we can work well together."

The man bends at the waist before Aoba, his every movement hypnotizing in its surgical precision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me last year: im gonna make virus a Sensei bc i wanna see him in a lab coat  
> me this year: im gonna make virus a Sensei bc i wanna see him play piano  
> either way, im the Virus Sensei provider, hello  
> the chapter is named after [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM)! virus prolly loves it. in fact, he does love it bc im saying so. i have too much power.  
> i come bearing Lots of mizuki san too, hes so precious. he will show up a lot i hope. AND noiz brooding while looking out the window man im Loving to write this shoujo shit  
> till next update! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


	4. Men Who Lead and Men Who Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What kind of harassment is this?!" Aoba explodes in a shrill voice, causing the couple of second-years a few boxes away to jump in fright.

The final notes of the song ring in the classroom's walls, and Virus lifts his fingers from the black-and-white keys with a smile to the students.

"Anyone can tell me what the name of this composition is?"

Aoba doesn't even risk it; he only knows about the songs he likes, and that mostly comprises of electronic music. The girls sitting upfront, however, are eager to throw their guesses, eyes sparkling when Virus humors them. Aoba is sure they must've been devastated when they heard about Tanioka-sensei's illness, but Virus' good looks and charisma did fast work of enrapturing everyone.

Everyone except Mizuki, who's doing a really bad job of hiding his disgusted frown at the moment.

"Oi, stop that," Aoba hisses, ducking his head and punching Mizuki's shoulder. They sit side-by-side at the very last seats in the middle rows, which is pretty convenient in moments like this.

"Why is everyone falling for this guy so easily?" Mizuki whispers back, throwing Aoba a glare meant for the teacher. "Don't you find him creepy?"

Aoba lets his eyes float back to the front of the class, where Virus is getting up from his seat and rounding the piano, saying something while gesturing to the framed pictures of old men hanging above the windows. Aoba catches some words. Beethoven. Sonata Pathétique.

"I wouldn't say I _fell_ for him or something," Aoba says, a loose knot between his eyebrows. "But I don't think he's creepy? Just a little weird."

"I'm pretty sure this means you did fall for him," Mizuki grumbled.

"Seragaki-kun," Virus calls from the front of the class, and Aoba has to actively stop himself from jumping off his seat. "If you have a question, you may direct it to me."

"A-ah, no..." Aoba glances to the sides furtively, hearing the muffled snickers coming from his classmates. He finally relents and looks at Virus, who's staring at him mildly. "I don't have any questions. I'm sorry."

Virus' pleasant smile turns just the slightest bit broader, his gaze sharpening before he turns his eyes away. He turns back to sit on the stool before the piano again.

"Then, shall we listen to our second piece?"

 

* * *

 

"Don't you think he's creepy now?"

Aoba rolls his eyes to himself. Classes have just ended and he's filling out the class log. Mizuki stares down at the top of his head, chin propped up on his palms as he hogs half of Aoba's desk.

"What would be creepy about him reprehending a student? That was your fault, by the way!"

Mizuki pouts when Aoba glares at him. "You were the one who started talking."

"Anyway," Aoba cuts him off flatly as he flips the log book closed with a heavy _whump_. "It's his second week here. Stop making weird faces at him during class, you wanna get on his bad side or something?"

"Ugh." Mizuki fakes a shiver, lips curling in distaste. "I probably shouldn't. He looks like the kind of guy who would kill me and cut me up into little pieces."

"Your imagination is really something else," Aoba deadpans, getting up from his seat.

Aoba mocks Mizuki, but leaving aside his exaggeration, Aoba does think there must be some truth to his words. One shouldn't underestimate Mizuki's instinct; he deals with many different people daily and, by virtue of this, became quite the judge of character. Aoba doesn't consider himself to be naïve or easily fooled either, but all he feels from Virus is that he's not sincere. He puts up a wall between himself and others, but Aoba doesn't think that's too weird; there are a fair number of teachers who do that so students won't get too familiar.

Well, while Aoba is not naïve, he fully recognizes that he gives people the benefit of doubt too often.

On their way to turn in the log book to their homeroom teacher, Aoba realizes Mizuki stopped walking beside him. When he looks back, his friend is staring at something around a corner they've just passed by.

"Hey, didn't you say you were coming with me?" Aoba asks, brows knitted.

"Ahh," Mizuki interjects dumbly, throwing Aoba a quick glance, then, "I just remembered something I have to do."

Aoba huffs. "Well, I don't have time to wait around. See you later." He whips his gaze forward and walks away towards the faculty room.

Mizuki waits until Aoba disappears around the next corner before turning back into the corridor. His footsteps are silent but not slow as he prowls closer to his prey, eyes narrowed at the stranger's back.

The boy's shoulders flinch in alarm but it's too late; Mizuki grabs the back of his jacket's collar and pulls him, hand flying to cover his mouth and muffle any consequential noise.

"Sooo," Mizuki coos, sharp eyes sliding sideways to meet his captive's startled stare. "You're the 'Clear' guy I've heard about."

Rosy eyes widened and Mizuki let his gaze wander away, until it fell on the door in front of them and the plaque above it. _Student Council Office._

"My sources were correct, apparently." Mizuki looks at Clear again, eyes squeezed shut with a grin. "Mind if we have a little chat, Clear-chan?"

 

* * *

 

Saturday brings with it a heat wave, something unseen over the past month and a half. The sun shines down on Midorijima punishingly, but the fresh winds balance it out, and Aoba almost forgets it isn't summer yet.

When the bell rings and their homeroom teacher dismisses them, the sun is high up in the sky. While passing by the open windows, wind rushing into the hallways and rustling his hair, Aoba can hear the odd metallic _clang_ of battering; the baseball club is probably taking full advantage of the good weather for an all-out training.

"Aoba," calls a voice from the side as Aoba reaches his shoe box in the school entryway.

Ren is navigating through the aisle to stand beside his brother, outdoor shoes already on his feet.

"Ren... No council meeting today?" Aoba asks with a quick glance, proceeding to open his box and toeing off his indoor shoes.

"We're taking Saturdays off. Can you give me a ride home?"

Aoba huffs out a laugh. "Of course I can. You usually walk home even when you get out early, though."

"I have an appointment so I need to be home earlier today," Ren explains, following Aoba on his way out. The early afternoon sunlight pours over the back of their necks, and a single solitary couple stands by the school gate, unbothered by the heat.

"Appointment, huh," Aoba teases. "Did Clara-chan finally score a date?"

Ren makes a weird, almost pained-looking face. "That's not it."

Aoba glances at him for a moment, then shrugs it off. They walk together to the bike racks and Ren follows Aoba as he pushes his bike past the school gate.

After walking down the sloping road together and climbing on the bike once again, Aoba remembers something. His pedaling slows down as they leave the North District.

"Hey, what do you think of Virus-sensei?" Aoba asks, slightly tilting his head to the side but maintaining his gaze forward.

Ren is quiet for the following seconds, and Aoba wonders if he didn't speak loud enough. But then, he says, "I find him unsettling."

Aoba sighs. "So even you are wary of him, huh."

"What are you talking about?"

"Uh, Mizuki has his guard way up around him. I thought he was acting a bit too freaked out, but if you're uneasy too..."

As if carefully choosing his words as he goes, Ren explains, "I feel that I don't know his first instincts, since he's so deliberate in every attitude. I have no idea what he's like without that control. That's something I find unsettling."

Aoba weighs those words in his mind for the rest of their trek home. When they stop in front of their home and Ren hops off his back seat, Aoba finds he's not the only one still hung up on their previous topic.

"Sensei hasn't done anything to warrant fear, so I don't think it's good to antagonize him like Mizuki's been doing," Ren continues, as though the previous pause hadn't been longer than five seconds. He fixes faintly luminous golden eyes on Aoba. "We should treat him according to how he treats us. But... I want you to be careful."

Aoba stares back at Ren; the straight set of his shoulders, the sun-golden halo around his hair. Aoba closes his eyes and heaves a harsh sigh through his nose.

"You know, even if he is dangerous, what would he want with me? I'm not even a pretty girl."

If Ren were the type of person who rolls their eyes, he would've done so now—that's the impression Aoba gets from his brother's answering expression.

"Just remember what I told you," he simply says.

Aoba sighs again, pushing his bike through the open gate. "Alright, alright. Let's go greet Granny before you get late for your 'appointment'."

 

* * *

 

There's another thing about Mizuki that, in virtue of his privileged seat as a childhood friend, Aoba is privy to.

Mizuki really, really sucks at keeping secrets.

He won't tell a soul, alright. You won't be able to pry him open with knowing words, prodding questions or a goddamn _crowbar_. He will die denying any and all suspicion, but he's so, _so_ bad at acting natural.

"You know," Aoba starts, dragging out the vowels. "This is getting ridiculous. Just tell me what you're up to."

"Huh?" Mizuki whips his head to look at him, a grin wobbling in his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

Aoba stares at him, deeply unimpressed, cheek squished against his palm. Mizuki unsteadily holds his gaze, as always hogging half of Aoba's desk.

"Mizuki-kun," calls out one of their classmates from the front of the class, where he's clearing the black board. "Can you-"

"I'll be right there!" Mizuki springs up taut like a ruler and marches towards the other student.

Aoba watches him go and huffs impatiently.

Mizuki disappears after lunch break. It's hardly unusual for him to do this, but Aoba wonders if there's a deeper meaning to it this time; after days of furtive glances and evasive answers, he's at his strangest today. Whatever he's plotting will culminate today, Aoba is sure.

The bell chime signaling the end of the last homeroom class is, as always, followed by celebratory whoops and their teacher's scolding. By now, any thought of Mizuki's sneaky behavior has been buried under two Math periods and _x equals_ something or other. Aoba's not bad at Math, but when letters got into the mix it really messed things up for him. He sighs, ignoring his classmates as they shoulder past him in a flurry of excitement, some talking about hanging out, going to karaoke or the arcades, while others gushed about their club's activities.

Other than classes 8 through 10, which are mostly comprised of students actually worried about university, third years don't really think about entrance exams. There are a fair number of people who stop after middle school, and then the ones who actually choose to finish high school are only worried about having slightly better qualifications and get a job right after graduation. Well, some are just bored.

By the time Aoba's leisurely footsteps take him to the shoe boxes, there's only a trickle of second-year students remaining. He ambles towards the 3-1 section and opens his shoe box.

It's empty. His shoe box is empty, his outdoor shoes nowhere to be seen.

There's only a note, which Aoba picks up with stiff fingers.

 _If you want us, you'll have to catch us!_ _৲_ _( ᵒ_ _૩_ _ᵕ )_ _৴_ _☆_

That's the moment Mizuki's big dumb face resurfaces in his mind's eye.

"What kind of harassment is this?!" Aoba explodes in a shrill voice, causing the couple of second-years a few boxes away to jump in fright.

"This was Mizuki, _I'm one-hundred percent sure this was Mizuki_ , holy shit, I'm gonna kick his ass, that asshole..." Aoba crumples the scribbled note in his fist, gritting his teeth. So this is what this guy's been planning all this time? Playing a dumb joke on him?

"Seragaki-senpai!"

Clear, wearing a cream-colored cardigan instead of the usual gakuran jacket, nears the shoe boxes, waving at Aoba. He must sense his senpai's distress from his face as he moves closer, because his grin immediately falls into a worried line.

"Is everything okay?"

"Clear..." Aoba tries to twist his features into something more neutral and sighs. "No, nothing's wrong. I just have a really shitty friend."

Clear tilts his head to the side, wide eyes blinking at Aoba in blatant confusion. Then, his gaze moves from the empty shoe box to Aoba's indoor shoes, and he gasps. He seems even more worried now, actually frightful, and Aoba can almost see dog ears flattened against his white hair in fear.

"Seragaki-senpai... Could it be that you're being-"

"I'm not being bullied!" Aoba nearly shrieks defensively, making Clear flinch. Apparently, that's what finally manages to drive the second-years away, but they don't leave before throwing them a concerned glance. Aoba catches himself and shakes his head lightly. _Too touchy, too touchy._

"Sorry for yelling. That's really not the issue." Aoba lets the note slip into Clear's hands, and the first-year reads it with owlish eyes. "That's just my friend's idea of a joke. Why is he doing this out of nowhere, geez..."

"This is indeed troublesome..."

Aoba shrugs and starts turning towards the glass doors. "Well, I'm not playing into his game. I'll just go back home in these shoes; the most that will happen is I'll get it dirty."

"Wait, senpai!" Clear calls out, and Aoba shifts back to look at him. The third-year quirks up one brow in question and Clear straightens up, pursing his lips.

 "I'll help you look for your shoes."

"Clear-"

"It's okay, senpai. If you go outside with your indoor shoes, won't it be a pain to clean them up for tomorrow? And it's wasteful to let go of a perfectly usable pair of shoes like that!"

Aoba stares at him with a knot between his brows. "It'll be even more of a bother to look for them, though... Besides, aren't you being a bit of a cheapskate?"

Clear starts at that, then looks down at his feet, cheeks dusted light pink. "I just picked up on this kind of speech from my grandfather. Our living conditions weren't the best when I was little, you see."

"Oh. I see." Aoba lets his eyes wander away, feeling a pinprick of self-consciousness.

Clear's eyes grow wide. "Oh, but don't worry! Our financial situation got better over the years, it's just that we're still overzealous with our belongings. Even though it's just the two of us."

"So you live alone with your grandfather. It's almost the same as me and Ren," Aoba tells him, softer with sympathy.

Clear's eyes brighten at that and he seems eager to follow the flow of the topic, but then he seems to catch himself. "Oh! But leaving that aside, we should look for your shoes!"

Aoba sighs. "We'll waste hours on that. We have two four-story buildings, and if you count the sports facilities, it could really be anywhere."

"Don't worry about it!" Grinning confidently, Clear rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan along with the white dress shirt underneath. "I'm really confident in my ability to find lost things!"

 

* * *

 

"You've looked through this entire building for a pair of shoes?" Ren asks after they explain everything to him, and Aoba knows he doesn't mean it that way, but he feels _really_ dumb when Ren puts it in such general lines.

"I didn't think it'd be this hard," Clear mumbles as they walk through the second-floor hallways, and there it is again; Aoba can perfectly see his drooping dog ears. He looks up at Aoba. "Sorry, Seragaki-senpai."

Aoba blinks once before giving Clear a disconcerted smile. "That's alright but... Won't you quit with the 'Seragaki-senpai' already? It's weird, especially when you call both me and Ren like that."

Clear makes a difficult face, looking back and forth between Ren and Aoba, who eventually takes pity on him.

"Look, you can just call me by my first name; I'm not fussy with that kind of thing. It's fine with Ren too, right?"

Aoba looks to his twin brother for support. Ren blinks at them in brief surprise before nodding solemnly.

"I don't mind it."

Clear's lips curl wobbly around a dopey grin, cheeks flushing pink and spreading to his ears. He nods back.

"Thank you very much!"

Aoba smiles wearily. "Like I said, no need to thank us over this kind of thing..."

"Well, let's get on with our search!" Clear makes for a power-run, but Ren's hand on his shoulder keeps him in place.

"Wait a minute. Aoba, did you try calling Mizuki?"

They stop in the middle of the hallway. Aoba stares blankly at Ren, who stares blankly right back at him.

Ren sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"I just didn't think of calling him because I knew he'd be an asshole about this and I'd throw my phone at the nearest wall," Aoba grumbles defensively in a single breath.

"I didn't say anything."

"You look really disappointed! I'm sorry if you stole my share of intelligence in the womb!"

Clear nervously goes "there, there" while Ren taps around his phone's screen and moves it to his ear. He waddles around the hallway as he waits for Mizuki to pick up the call, chancing a look inside the nearest classroom while he's at it.

Aoba looks sullenly out the window, walking closer to it as he hears Ren talking on the phone. He thinks he hears Clear sighing somewhere behind him.

There may have been students still fooling around an hour ago, but now the courtyard between the two school buildings is empty. What's left are only a couple of cans tossed on the grass next to the benches, and Aoba has to wonder how bad were those guys' aim when the nearest trashcan is just a couple of steps away.

Aoba's gaze wanders up, towards the windows to the second building's second floor hallway, at the opposite side of the courtyard. The second building seems deserted too; the only clubs staying this late are usually the sports ones, in the gym, the baseball field and so on.

It's only a flurry of movement. The building interior can barely be seen through the strong reflection on the glass windows. Yet, Aoba's eye catches a blur of blonde hair and he automatically focuses on a profile that's become familiar to him. As though he's right in front of Aoba again, he can see the strong line of his nose, the sweep of thick, pale eyelashes drooping on his cheeks. And red, red dripping down the side of his face.

A heartbeat is all the time you need to make a stupid decision.

Aoba takes off running, uncaring for the additional weight of his bag against his body. In the periphery of his attention, he hears Clear calling his name, but there doesn't seem to be steps following him. Only the sound of Aoba's own shoes squeaking on the tiled floor echoes in the hallway.

 

Ren watches Aoba go with a rare shocked expression, phone still pressed to his ear. Clear looks indecisive on whether he should go after Aoba or stay, but ultimately stands rooted in his spot. Ren frowns at the empty hallway and Clear's furtive looks, and then everything clicks into place. Ren sighs heavily.

"Your hare-brained schemes are as terrible as always."

"Eh? W-what are you talking about?" Mizuki stammers on the other end of the line.

Ren sighs again. "Is there any meaning to hiding it by now? I know what you're up to, and it's not going well."

Mizuki keeps on stammering and Ren hangs up on him. He stares at his lock screen for a moment, his background picture a photo of his grandma's and Aoba's backs side-by-side in front of their kitchen sink.

_Monday, April 22_

_5:43pm_

Ren slips his phone back into his pocket and switches his attention to Clear, who stiffens up under his scrutiny.

"You're in this too, right?" Ren asks casually, eyes devoid of judgment.

Clear looks guilty when he nods, head downcast.

"Does this have anything to do with why you suddenly asked to meet me last Saturday?"

Clear glances up at him, and his cheeks go the lightest shade of pink.

"More... or less. I wanted to get a good hint for a present."

Ren stares at him for a moment, then smiles thinly and pats Clear's head. The first-year looks up at him with wide, bright eyes.

"Let's find Aoba."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a chapter of transition so things are Yet to happen, i hope its at least Kind Of entertaining  
> kinda feels like no one is following this one but thats what u get when u write for inactive fandoms LKSJADHJHDAKJ  
> its good that theres no pressure to update quickly at least. skipped last week because i was busy w other projects, and it may be a while until the next update bc i want to catch up with the following chapters. (btw i wrote a short angsty renkuri thing unrelated to this universe. if anyones interested, check my latest works lmao)  
> welp, til next update! ৲( ᵒ ૩ᵕ )৴☆


	5. Surprise Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Call Granny and Clear, and tell Mizuki he can choke."

Chest heaving and calves aching at the sudden dash, Aoba gets to the corridor connecting the buildings. Luckily, it's empty; he takes a sharp turn without slowing down and grunts in pain when he crashes onto the wall. The pain that spikes up in his shoulder causes him to stumble his next couple of steps, but he's soon picking up speed again, windows passing by him in flashes of dying daylight.

As he slows down to a jog around the corner of the hallway, Aoba briefly catches a glimpse of Noiz's back going into one of the doors. Aoba braces himself on the wall for a moment, fighting to catch his breath. At the same time, he hears a clatter of footsteps approaching. He has half a mind to wait and see if it's Ren and Clear because _are you an idiot you should've told them to come with you_.

However, the memory of Scratch members running after Noiz flashes in his mind's eye. _Could it be...?_

Aoba groans under his breath. He staggers to the door Noiz disappeared behind in quick but muffled steps, looking around furtively. Clear and Ren can't be seen through the windows when he tosses a glance to the other side of the courtyard. With a steadying breath, Aoba slides the door open and slips into the room quickly.

And, of course, he's being shoved against the wall in the next second. _Of course._

Aoba's bag falls to the ground. The air is punched out of him when his back meets brick and his vision blurs, but what surprises him next is how _weakly_ he's being restrained. Aoba shakes off the whiplash and his eyes focus properly on what's in front of him.

Noiz is breathing laboriously through his mouth, blood smearing his hair and spilling over the right side of his face. His green eyes are hooded, hazy, and Aoba is marginally relieved that they are, indeed, in an empty classroom.

Aoba breathes shakily, taking in Noiz's state.

"What are you doing here?" Noiz rasps out, glaring.

At such close proximity, it can be seen that his bottom lip is busted as well. Is it the rusty smell of his blood that Aoba can feel invading his nostrils, soaking into his own tongue?

"What... what are _you_ doing here?! And like this?!" Aoba yells, furious. Why does Noiz look like this? How did he let things get this bad?!

Noiz snarls at him. "It's none of your business. Why are you always..."

Lime-green eyes flicker, and the pressure of Noiz's arm against Aoba's chest falls away. Noiz is staggering backwards and Aoba gasps, holding on to Noiz's elbows reflexively. The first-year blinks for a moment, disoriented, but his knees don't give way like Aoba feared they would.

After a longer stretch of time, Noiz finally pulls away, half-heartedly so, and Aoba doesn't persist. Noiz steps back until he's bracing himself on one of the desks upfront, eyes strained and pointed to the ground.

"Hey, seriously," Aoba says softly after a while, "are you okay? This is... a lot of blood."

"Shut up," Noiz replies, but it's pathetic-sounding. He lets out a heavy breath and slowly descends to the ground, sitting on the floor with criss-crossed legs.

Aoba stares at the crown of his head and sighs. Noiz doesn't look up as Aoba bends down and pulls his previously abandoned bag to him, rifling through the contents until he finds what he's looking for. Aoba comes to sit down across from Noiz with a half-drank bottle of water and a plain white shirt in his hand.

"Stop playing tough and lean your head back. I'm gonna clean your face so you won't look so terrifying, at least."

Noiz looks blankly at Aoba, but ultimately obeys, to Aoba's surprise—even though he's the one who asked in the first place. Noiz tilts his head backwards, but he's still trying to keep an eye on Aoba, as if expecting him to take out a knife at any given moment.

Aoba snorts, uncapping the bottle. "Close your eyes or water's gonna fall in it. If I wanted to attack you, I would've done so already, you know?"

Again, Noiz obeys reluctantly, and Aoba doesn't waste time to slowly cant the bottle in the air and spill water in a thin rivulet onto Noiz's forehead. It slides down his face, wetting his eyelids and cheeks. Before it can start making a mess on the floor, Aoba stops and places the bottle beside him, sloppily folding the shirt in his hand and sliding it carefully across Noiz's cheek.

"Sure is lucky we had P.E. today. The water is still a bit cold, it'll help with the pain. You can open your eyes now," Aoba tells him, and Noiz does so. He flinches when Aoba settles one hand on the side of his head and moves it to face him more squarely, but he doesn't try to fight off his touch. He's likely too tired for that already.

"Can you tell where the cut is? So I'll try not to press on it."

"Dunno," Noiz replies under his breath. Aoba shrugs, smoothing the shirt over Noiz's brow as delicately as he can.

"I guess it must be hard to tell. Ugh, I can't imagine how much this must hurt. Doesn't seem like it's still bleeding, though, which is good."

Aoba smiles lightly at him, but Noiz only frowns at the third-year.

"You're so annoying."

Aoba scoffs, not letting up on his task. "And you're so rude every time we talk that it doesn't even affect me anymore."

"Why are you doing this? Every time..." Noiz asks, closing his right eye when Aoba moves the shirt over his eyelid.

"It seems you're in trouble every time I run into you. Most people would do what I'm doing."

This time, it's Noiz who scoffs. "That's bullshit."

"No, it isn't. Wouldn't you do the same?" Aoba asks with a slight pout, then blinks at the long cut that appears near Noiz's hairline when he brushes the shirt over it. "Ah. Found it."

"No," Noiz answers promptly, ignoring his mutter. "Not if I stand to gain nothing from it."

"What a charming personality," Aoba muses derisively, picking up the bottle and wetting another part of the shirt. When he's done, he uses it to clean Noiz's fringe. "So you wouldn't have lifted a finger for me back when Scratch cornered us?"

"I was actually thinking of how to use you to escape, that time."

Noiz looks Aoba in the eye as he says it. For the first time, Aoba feels a sting in his chest. It's not that he feels hurt or disrespected in the face of Noiz's disregard for him, but rather something else. For the first time, even after the scene on the rooftop and their bad encounter with Scratch, Aoba realizes there's something really wrong with Noiz.

Could Aoba live not trusting anyone and not caring for other people's well-being? He thinks of his friends, and Ren and Granny, and he knows he wouldn't be able to. Is a life like that easier?

Noiz's wounds and the look in his eyes don't show him a positive answer.

"That's sad," is all Aoba breathes out. The cloth brushes smoothly over the seam of Noiz's lip, mitigating the angry red into soft pink.

"So why did you do it?" Noiz insists, and Aoba furrows his brows at him, dropping his hands on his lap.

"Like I said, anyone would-"

"And I _said_ , it's bullshit." Noiz points to his forehead, at the pink line of the cut. Aoba realizes, then, that his hand is still bandaged. "This, it was a person who did it. One like you, like the 'anyone' you're babbling about. He did it because I rigged up the machines at the Serinuma arcade, so now Kisaragi doesn't have an advantage anymore."

"So it really was that Hiroto guy..." Aoba bites his lip, tossing a glance to the classroom's door. So he came to school after Noiz, even when Mizuki cast his protection over him? And more importantly, is he still around?

Noiz doesn't mind him again and continues. "That guy did this because I'm getting in the way of something he wants. That's something _anyone_ does. What you're doing is not."

Aoba rears back when Noiz leans forward, pinning him down with his piercing stare.

"So what is it that you want?"

After his initial shock, Aoba rolls his eyes and lightly pushes Noiz back. He gets up, but only to plop down beside Noiz, who stares at him. Aoba turns his head and looks straight into that emotionless gaze.

"I want nothing from you. I don't know what kind of life you've been living to develop such a sad mentality, but," Aoba gives him a slight smile, "it's impossible not to care when a brat this bad at taking care of himself shows up in front of me."

Something changes almost imperceptibly around Noiz's eyes, but Aoba doesn't have time to analyze it because a bang comes from behind him.

Aoba whirls his head back around and towards the door. His faint hope of it being Ren and Clear disperses quickly when he finds Hiroto standing there, cold eyes zeroing on them, or rather, on the boy beside Aoba. A wide smile takes over his bruised features. Noiz must've put up quite the nasty fight.

"So _there_ you are, Noiz. So damn rude of you, running off without saying anything."

Hiroto takes one step closer, and Aoba assumes a defensive position, crouching and raising one arm in front of Noiz protectively. This time, Hiroto looks at him blankly.

"Oh, the boyfriend is here too," Hiroto says flatly, then grins at Aoba. "Sorry for interrupting your moment alone, but I have a little thing to work out with Noiz."

Hiroto moves closer, and Aoba is forced to get up on his feet, still standing in front of Noiz. The moment is so tense Aoba can't muster up the energy to feel embarrassed for really acting like he's Noiz's boyfriend.

Aoba tilts his head to the side and whispers, "Noiz, get awa-"

"Ah, by the way..." Hiroto takes a wider stride and closes in on Aoba faster than he expected. Before he can react, Hiroto is closing a fist on his uniform's jacket and giving him a heavy knee-kick to the gut.

" _Ggh-ah_ — _!_ " Aoba yelps and spits the air right out of his lungs. His knees buckle under the pressure of the numbing pain. It comes as a surprise; for a man who had heavily relied on a knife before, it seems like he's much more fearsome in hand-to-hand combat.

Hiroto throws his limp body to the ground unceremoniously. Aoba rolls away once, twice, before stopping with a groan, trying not to let the nausea rippling up his spine overtake him. The world is tilted ninety degrees in his hazy vision, stars popping and darkness creeping at the corners. Still, Aoba balls his fists and, with teeth gritted, pushes himself up on one elbow.

"I made sure to come here when Mizuki wouldn't be present, so you're alone in this," Hiroto tells him, and his voice is warbled and distant like Aoba is underwater. His feet get closer and closer, and then Aoba feels something gripping his fringe and pulling his face up forcefully.

At once, it feels like he's being split in two, starting from his head. Aoba cries out in agonizing pain and Hiroto gets into his face, grinning broadly.

"Your kick that time was really good, you know. That guy was dazed for the rest of the day. Hope I'm able to provide you the same experience," he whispers, then releases his hold on Aoba's hair with a laugh.

"Now, back to you." Hiroto turns towards Noiz.

Aoba is back on the floor and, this time, he can't muster the strength for more than keeping his eyes open. Through his pain-driven tears, Aoba can see Noiz staring right at him, disregarding Hiroto's looming figure. He hasn't moved from his sitting position.

Noiz's eyes aren't sympathetic, but they're not indifferent either. It still seems like he's having a hard time focusing, but his gaze is set firmly on Aoba, riveted.

Aoba can only watch from the floor as Hiroto pulls Noiz up by his jacket and socks him in the face. Noiz doesn't wince, but Aoba does. The water bottle has tipped over at some point, pouring its contents over the tiles.

A new wave of nausea crashes over Aoba and he shivers. Hiroto is saying something to Noiz, but his conscience is fading in and out.

"This time..."

The bandages around Noiz's hand are coming undone.

"I'll really get rid of you."

Noiz's eyelashes flutter as he valiantly tries to hold on to his own conscience. There's a new bruise on his cheek, now. Aoba's arms are numb, uselessly flopped to the ground.

_(A detestable brat.) I can't say I don't care about what happens to him._

_It's impossible not to care... (Doesn't know how to take care of himself.)_

_I care about_

_you._

Noiz is sagging in Hiroto's hold, eyes shutting. Aoba grits his teeth and tears are spilling out and running over the bridge of his nose because it hurts, _everything hurts_ , but also because Noiz is hurting and he wants to do something, _anything_ , because he cares. _I care about you._

A new stab of pain pierces through Aoba's head. Everything goes dark.

 

" _Hiroto._ "

A sharp intake of breath.

" _Sink._ "

 

* * *

 

As the sun dips into the horizon, dark, heavy clouds close over Midorijima's sky. It starts raining as soon as the last sliver of daylight disappears, and the streets of Platinum District become virtually empty. People rush into restaurants, cafes and malls, but Noiz keeps on his path.

The water pooling in the cobblestone sidewalk glitters, reflecting the light shining through the windowpane of stores and eateries. A couple runs by Noiz, huddled together under the precarious shelter of a single coat.

They're laughing, and the girl whines, "So cold!"

Noiz doesn't follow them with his eyes; he only listens to the wet paddling of their footsteps and a little bell chiming, accompanied by the creak of a door. They must've taken cover in a cafe nearby.

"Cold" is something people say when they're out in the rain. Noiz raises his face to the sky, and he only knows it's raining because he can see and hear it. The feeling of drops slipping over his face or soaking into his uniform is nothing but the faintest of whispers, as light as the pressure of a breeze against his skin. Noiz opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

A lone drop falls on its tip, and Noiz can feel its trajectory as it slides down the blade of his tongue.

It's not cold, but he wouldn't say it's hot either.

After taking a few more turns, Noiz arrives to the tall, pristine condo he lives in. There are a few people waiting for the rain to pass under the cover of the porte-cochere; Noiz weaves through them easily. The double glass doors open before him after he taps the correct password on the keypad and he slips inside, unconcerned with the wet track he's surely leaving behind.

The lights are dimmed down in his flat when Noiz pushes the door open. He toes off his muddy shoes by the entrance, passes by the light switches without bothering to flick them on and goes into his room. In the darkness, there are only the outside lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling window. Noiz drops his bag by the foot of his bed and shrugs off his black jacket, proceeding to pull the white undershirt off his back, letting it all fall to the floor.

Only now, he can see the blood splattering the fabric. His gaze slides to the side, where a second white shirt pokes out of the corner of his bag's opening, which he failed to zip all the way up.

Noiz sits on the floor, legs folded, and pulls his school bag closer. He opens the zipper, pulls out the blood-soiled t-shirt and stares down at it.

That guy is, quite possibly, the stupidest, most irritating person Noiz has ever come across.

No one before him has been as meddling and self-righteous, and someone like that can't possibly live too long. Noiz remembers the way he stood between him and the guy from Scratch, how he writhed and cried out on the floor, and the tears streaking across his face as he lay unconscious. He's someone who properly knows pain—Noiz could tell when he looked at him. A true, bonafide idiot.

If he knew what Noiz is, he would never have done all of this.

The door creaks behind Noiz and the lights overhead flicker on. Noiz lets the shirt fall inside his bag again and twists around.

"Finally home?" The tall blond man in the doorway drawls, a muscled arm braced on the wooden frame.

Noiz simply stares at him, expressionless. The man scoffs and pushes off from the doorframe. He's nonchalantly cracking his knuckles, but a fist grabbing a tuft of his hair stops him from advancing.

"Stop that, Trip," a cold voice says, and Virus emerges beside Trip, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to Noiz. Virus smiles perfunctorily.

"You wandered quite a bit today."

Noiz huffs and gets up from the floor, picking up his towel from where it was draped over the back of a chair. He makes to move past Virus and Trip, but Virus stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Noiz glares, but Virus is too busy pushing his bangs away from his brow.

"You have new bruises and cuts, Wilhelm," Virus observes, and Noiz feels the pressure of his fingers against the wound on his forehead. It doesn't hurt. Virus grins at him again, eyes sparking with interest. "Perhaps you have a fun story to tell us?"

Noiz holds Virus' icy blue gaze, which tries to unveil him even as no words leave his mouth.

 

* * *

 

The sight of his bedroom's ceiling comes into focus very slowly. The blobs of dark colors dissolve into sharp lines, and he can make out the wooden frames of the ceiling and the light bulb.

Aoba slides his head to the side, hearing the faint rustle of his hair against his pillow. Ren is sitting by his bedside, observing him, and Aoba's memories come flooding in, first slowly, then building momentum.

"Noiz!" Aoba gasps and sits up in bed, but pain lashes out like the crack of a whip in his head, echoing down his body. He winces and Ren puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the mattress.

"Calm down. You have to rest."

Aoba lies back obligingly, furrowing his brow. "Ren..."

Ren smiles ruefully at him. "You gave me a scare, Aoba."

A sudden twinge of pain pinpricks Aoba's chest, unrelated to any bodily damage caused by the recent events. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Ren make this face, and guilt sits heavy in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Ren."

Ren shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize. Do you want water?"

Aoba nods and Ren helps him sit up slowly, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher placed on Aoba's bedside table. Aoba slowly sips up the water and settles back against his pillow when he's finished. Ren gets up from his seat.

"Are you okay to see more people? Everyone's worried."

"Everyone...?" Aoba trails off, finally registering the buzz of conversation coming from downstairs. Sounds like a lot of people. Aoba furrows his brow. "Who's out there?"

"Granny, Clear, Clara, Mizuki, a couple of guys from Dry Juice and Beni-shigure, as well as Haga-san. Koujaku is here too; he just returned from his trip."

Aoba's eyes go wide. "Just because I got a little hurt? Why..."

Ren blinks. "No, because of Mizuki's surprise party for us. You didn't realize?"

Aoba stares at him for a moment longer, then sighs heavily, throwing a hand over his face. "Of course. It had to be something dumb like that, how didn't I catch on..."

"So, who should I call here?"

Aoba huffs irritably. "Call Granny and Clear, and tell Mizuki he can choke."

Ren chuckles lightly and leaves the room. Aoba burrows back into his pillow, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. A subsequent sting in his midsection makes him wince. After a moment, Aoba sits up and takes off his thin cream-colored shirt to survey the state of his body.

There's a big, ugly bruise in his stomach, naturally. The skin is blue and purple and sensitive to the touch, he finds as he presses the pad of his fingers onto the area. Aoba is surprised to notice a fainter bruise on his shoulder too, possibly from when he collided with the wall in his blind run and then went rolling on the floor, thanks to Hiroto.

Aoba makes a mental reminder to check for bruises on his back later, but now he can hear people walking up the stairs. He puts his shirt back on and doesn't wait for long until Ren is reentering the room, followed by their grandmother and Clear, who raises his eyes from the floor to Aoba. The first-year's expression opens in apparent glee and relief, and then crumples up.

"Aoba-san," Clear sobs, and Aoba is terrified to see actual tears brimming at the corners of Clear's eyes.

"Eh? _Eh?_ Clear, don't..." Aoba raises his hands uselessly, eyes widening in panic.

"It's okay, I won't cry," Clear promises in a whiny voice like a child's, scrubbing away the tears with the back of his hand. He waddles up to Aoba's bedside and startles him again when he bends at the waist in a ninety-degree bow.

"I'm really sorry! It's my fault all of this happened!" Clear declares.

Aoba stares at him in open puzzlement, brows low over eyes blown wide. Ren helpfully steps in.

"Mizuki got Clear to make sure you would stay in school until my council meeting was over so we could come to the surprise together."

The penny drops. Aoba groans, dropping his head. "Okay. Alright, I got it."

Clear is still bowing; he's looking up at Aoba like he's waiting for a death sentence, lips pursed tightly. Aoba can't help but smile.

"It's not your fault, Clear. It's not Mizuki's either, but next time, don't go along with his stupid ideas, okay?"

Clear straightens up and nods, grinning and blushing lightly. Ren has a discreet smile as he gives them a side-long glance. Aoba smiles too, but it's short-lived; it disappears as he tightens his hold on the sheets draped over his lap and looks down at his hands.

"With that said... What happened? We didn't get in trouble with the school, did we? A-and Noiz? Is he okay?"

"Noiz?" Ren questions, one brow arched.

"Ah, you know, that first-year from the entrance ceremony; he was in the middle of that mess with Scratch.  He's your classmate, Clear."

Clear pokes his chin in thought and looks up at the ceiling.

"Noiz, Noiz... Ah, you mean Wilhelm-kun?"

"Oh, so that's his name..." Aoba turns his gaze down again. There's giddy warmth in his chest and an insistent pull at the corners of his lips. Aoba swears he must be going insane—is he seriously this happy to find out that guy's true name?

Clear's eyes brighten when he glances at Ren. "So it was him, huh. It makes me glad; so he's not as cold as he appears in class."

"We still don't know how he was involved in this," Ren points out, grim.

Leaving Ren's suspicion to be relieved later, Aoba asks Clear, "What are you talking about? 'So it was him'?"

"Mm, Ren-san tried calling you many times, but you weren't picking up. We were still looking for you when, uh..."

Ren picks up from where Clear trails off. "After a short while, you called back but you weren't the one talking. That person said you were unconscious at Class 1-7, and we should figure out what to do with 'the other blacked-out guy'. He hung up soon after."

Aoba snorts, tucking his knees to his chest. "That dry tone sounds like Noiz, yeah."

"When we got to the classroom, it was only you and the other guy. I called Sumi-sensei and told him an outsider had attacked a student in school grounds, but I don't think they'll make a big deal out of it, since the police probably wouldn't help. Mizuki might be able to do something."

Aoba nodded, looking down. "I see."

Doesn't this all mean Noiz helped him? He could've easily left Aoba for anyone to find eventually. He could've left Aoba to Hiroto's mercy, but he went to the trouble of calling Ren from his phone _. Hey, Noiz._ _Did you gain anything from it? Can you understand me now? Do you realize what you did?_

There are so many questions Aoba wants to make Noiz. He pushes them all to a secluded corner and lets a single thought weight in his mind as his forehead drop on his knees.

_Damn. I'm happy._

"Aoba," calls a hoarse voice that has been silent all this time. Aoba lifts his head to see his grandmother moving away from the door, where she's been standing quietly until now.

"Granny... I'm sorry for troubling you."

She huffs and smiles softly, taking the seat Ren was previously occupying by his bedside and holding one of Aoba's hands in her own.

"What are grandchildren for, if not that? Never mind the small things. How do you feel?"

Aoba smiles awkwardly. "I've been better."

"You really did a number on yourself this time," Granny sighs.

She looks hesitating, and Aoba can see that Ren picked up on it too when he gives her a side-long glance. Aoba waits for the question, which is eventually delivered by Ren.

"We have no idea why you ran at that time, and why we found you in that room like that. What happened, Aoba?"

Aoba examines the worried lines in everyone's faces and nods, smiling apologetically. "Sorry for leaving you in the dark. I'll tell you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Annnd we're back to the main plot.~~ Here's a chapter jam-packed with drama and NoiAo development! Happy New Year to those reading this!  
>  This year I don't have a chapter as thematically appropriate as last year, but I'm still delivering something on the last day of the year, so, yay (?)  
> I need to catch up on chapters before going back to my schedule of one chapter per week, but now that I'm on break, hopefully this will be resolved quickly.  
> There's a lot of revelations in this chapter, and I liked writing it very much. It's very heavy, which is why I didn't want to "come back" with it, ~~and decided to post a "breather" chapter first. It's best to read this one after a recent read of "Men Who Lead and Men Who Plan".~~ I hope the plot is developing well!  
>  ~~Officially, this chapter is the number "5", so I'll remove the "Alice" chapter when I post the next one, to fix the numbering.~~ The "Alice" chapter will be posted again when the main story is over, along with other extras, just like I did for Rabbits Playing in the Grass. Till the next update! (￣▽￣)ノ


	6. Into the Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like you could punch someone's memories away just like that."

Ren closes the organized meeting journal and the ensuing thump reverberates softly in the empty student council office. It's late enough that all other members have left; the orange, cooling light of sunset pours into the room through the windows behind his chair. Ren would usually receive the aid of the vice-president for such duties, but the third-year in question stepped down from his post as soon as last year ended.

After putting the meeting journal away and hauling his bag to his shoulder, Ren heads out of the room. He is almost too distracted by the jingling of the keys he's retrieving from his pocket, but he soon notices a silhouette leaning on the wall a few steps away from the door.

"Clear... why are you still here?" Ren wonders, head tilted towards the first-year as he twists the key into the lock.

"Ren-san, good work today!" Clear grins, bounding over to his upperclassman's side. "You wouldn't let me stay longer so I thought I'd wait."

"It's only your first day as a council member; I didn't want you to push yourself too hard."

Ren slips the keys back into his pocket, passing by a dejected Clear. Despite the very pronounced pout, he's not discouraged and catches up with Ren in two strides.

"I got it... But tomorrow I'll stay back to help you!"

A sheepish, reserved smile opens up in Ren's face and he chuckles. "Alright."

 _... Eh?_ Clear puts a hand on his chest, blinking down at his moving feet. It feels like something snapped and is swelling up in his chest. Inundating... with what?

_Did something just blow up inside? Am I dying?_

Warm; perhaps internal hemorrhage? While trying to remember the names of the coronary arteries, Clear swivels his head to throw Ren a frantic look, a question or a plea for help on the tip of his tongue.

Ren isn't looking at him. Like Clear was, he's looking down at the floor, a ghost of his earlier smile still lingering in his pink lips. Ren's lashes sit half a centimeter short of resting on his cheeks, long and thick and as pitch-black as the hair on his nape.

The names of the aorta's branches and the most common heart conditions blank out of Clear's brain.

No one who's ever been around Seragaki Ren is oblivious to his good looks. Even for the whole five minutes during which Clear was scared of Ren, he recognized the beauty in the intimidating third year's golden eyes and the solidity with which he carried himself. Clear accepted it, as naturally as he accepts the sunlight when he opens the windows in the morning. It's all a matter of course. So how is it that, now, it feels more like the first time he's seeing Ren than that day?

Clear takes a deep breath, and when his chest expands and narrows, he doesn't know whether he's feeling normal again or that mysterious warmth has simply taken permanent residence in the curves of his ribcage. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, quick and minutely.

"I wanted to ask you how Aoba-san is. He didn't come today, right?"

Ren nods, and his expression is settled into neutrality again. "He tried to get up, but it was obvious he was still sore, so I convinced him to stay home."

Clear sighs. "Wilhelm-kun didn't come to school either. He skips but this is the first time he misses class."

"Aoba did say he had a head injury. And he still fought off that other man."

Clear purses his lips. "Ren-san, do you think Wilhelm-kun really was the one to knock that man out?"

Ren furrows his brow at Clear. "That's the only possible explanation. Aoba was unconscious."

Clear stops for a moment, hesitant in face of Ren's rising defensiveness.

Still, in a lower voice, he continues. "He told us that he remembered telling that Hiroto person to 'sink', though."

"Aoba was probably hallucinating; although he didn't sustain any head injury, he was in enough pain to black out. Also... Don't mention that around Aoba again. Granny told us we should forget about it."

Ren's tone is conclusive. Clear drops his gaze and the silence between them stretches for miles longer than the distance they're closing to reach the shoe boxes. Even longer than the increasing distance opening between them as Clear lags behind.

_"I thought I was unconscious but then I heard myself saying those words..."_

The details are vivid in Clear's memories. Almost as pale as his white bed sheets, Aoba scowled down at his hands, clutching at the covers.

_"You must've been hearing things. You were in pain."_

_"But... even that was weird. That pain wasn't normal, even back when the kids pulled at my hair and it hurt, it didn't_ hurt _like that. And- and you said you found Hiroto lying unconscious there too-"_

_"That was probably Wilhelm-kun's doing, Aoba-san-"_

_"No! You didn't see how Noiz looked, there's no way he could've knocked him out! He was bleeding, and I thought he might die because I couldn't help him. So I-"_

_"Aoba!"_

It was Tae-san's voice, hoarse but firm. They all fell silent right then, all eyes turned to her slouching figure.

Taking in a deep breath, Clear squeezes his eyes shut and grabs Ren's wrist, feet halting at once.

The upperclassman jerks back at the sudden hold, but doesn't pull away. Clear opens his eyes and Ren is turning to face him, confusion in his cool golden eyes.

"Clear?"

The first-year opens his mouth. Then, a feminine voice yells out from behind them.

"Ren!"

Clear flinches in surprise as Ren blinks at something over the first-year's shoulder. Clear's hand slips away from its grasp on Ren's wrist as he turns back.

"Clara... Why are you still wearing your archery uniform?"

The girl slows to a stop before them. Although her exertion is betrayed by the sheen of sweat covering her sandy-brown skin, she doesn't lose her poise. Just as Ren noted, she's wearing a black _hakama_ , a chest guard placed over a white _keiko-gi_.

Clear quickly remembers her as the girl from yesterday's party; she ran to hug Ren when they arrived, asking one and a million questions when she saw the unconscious Aoba on Clear's back. Different from that previous encounter, her long blonde hair is not down, but instead pulled back in a ponytail.

"If you picked up your phone for once, I wouldn't have to rush here. Now, let's pick up Beni-chan at Koujaku's and get gelato!"

Ren sighs. "Is practice even over?"

"No, but I'm the captain and I give the orders," Clara tells Ren, tipping up her chin with a tight-lipped grin.

"The faculty advisor will definitely love that." Ren sounds unnerved, but there's the smallest of fond smiles gracing his lips. Clara beams at him, a smile illuminating her face with not a drop of her earlier haughtiness. Somehow, it's made all the more natural and unguarded when accompanied by the beads of sweat at her temple, stray hairs plastered to her skin.

_Ah._

The warmth which had enveloped Clear in a soothingly suffocating embrace is now eating into his ribcage. Like rust, gnawing away, crumbling, crumbling, sending his lungs and heart into free fall. Falling whereas earlier it swelled like a fluffy sparrow, taking in the morning sunrays. What a reaction to have in realization of Clara's beauty, when just earlier he was elated by Ren's.

_That's because it isn't simply of matter of beauty, is it?_

It hurts.

"We weren't introduced yesterday, were we? Sorry for my rudeness."

Clear snaps out of his reverie when he realizes Clara is addressing him.

"A-ah... Yes, we weren't." Clear cleared his throat and gave a shy smile. "I should've introduced myself, but I was still stunned by what happened to Aoba-san. I'm Clear, nice to meet you."

Clara takes Clear's proffered hand and shakes it with confidence, her grin following suit. "Likewise. My name is Clara."

There's not a hint of guile in Clara's disposition, but Clear fears his thoughts are an open secret before the intelligence of her almond-shaped eyes.

"Clara, you should go back before your teacher gets mad," Ren tells her. She gives him a chaffing smirk.

"That won't be a problem; he absolutely _adores_ me. But I do need to go back and change. Don't leave without me!"

Clara jogs away, ponytail swishing across her narrow shoulders. Clear breathes in and perks up.

"Well, I should get going."

Ren turns his eyes away from where Clara disappeared to, locking his gaze on Clear. "You can come with us if you want. For gelato. My treat."

Clear sputters at the sudden invitation. "W-w-why treat me?"

Thankfully making no comment on Clear's tomato-red face, Ren nods to himself.

"I want to thank you for helping me carry Aoba home yesterday. I wouldn't have been able to do it alone."

"It was partly my fault, of course I would..."

Ren shushes him with a wave of his hand.

"I also want to thank you for the scarf."

Clear blinks, gaze wide and blank. Then, at once, his flush returns in full-power, painting even his ears and nape a furious crimson.

"A-ah!" Clear's hands fly up and from this point on it's a race between them and his rattling mouth. "The scarf! I did leave it there and y-you saw it, uh, I thought- I thought you guys wouldn't open them so soon, after Aoba-san... Anyway, d-d-d-did you like it? Sorry, it's not even cold anymore-"

Ren laughs; it's subdued and short. Clear is in danger of fainting from overheating.

"Aoba woke up some time after everyone left and asked about the presents. He didn't leave me alone until we opened them."

"Oh... Did he like the CD?" Clear asks, looking anywhere but Ren's eyes as he fiddles with the sleeve of his cardigan.

Ren nods. "Mhm. I liked the scarf as well. The thought that went into it... I appreciate it. Thank you."

Distrustful of his ability to both string words together in a coherent sentence and deliver it in a human-sounding language, Clear simply coughs a laugh. Ren isn't expecting anything more and, for that, Clear is grateful.

"So, are you coming with us?"

Clear almost falters, _almost_ opens his mouth to say "yes". However, as the excitement tingling up his arms and back bleeds out of his system, he ultimately shakes his head. "Sorry, I really need to go. My grandfather wants my help with some errands. Rain check?"

Ren blinks for a moment, then gives a slight smile. "Okay."

Clear grins widely and holds onto the strap of his bag. "Then, see you tomorrow!"

With a spring in his step, Clear only stops at the end of the corridor, giving a little jump and waving at Ren. The third-year waves back. Clear can't really see his expression from this distance, but the good thing is: Ren probably can't analyze Clear's expression either.

After turning around the corner, the enthusiasm slowly slips off Clear's frame like a cloak.

There's no logical reason not to go with Ren; his grandfather didn't ask for any help. There's no explanation for why he felt the need to fake glee when he wasn't feeling particularly gleeful. Not even an explanation as to why he _wasn't_ gleeful; since the moment he felt Ren's kindness for the first time, he's been nothing but completely comfortable in his presence. Until now.

How much did he say and do in the last twenty minutes that he didn't mean? And in turn, how much of what he meant was suppressed?

Clear has only just dared consider Ren a friend, and yet, in more ways than one, uncountable lies are already piling up between them.

 

* * *

 

When Wednesday comes around, Aoba is more than glad to leave the house, even if it's just to go to school. One reason for this is that, contrary to popular belief, one can grow tired of lying in bed all day eating birthday cake pretty fast.

The most poignant reason, however, is that he doesn't want to be left alone with his warring thoughts for even a second longer. Not when Granny stares at him from the corner of her eye, and he's making enough questions to himself without that. Some of them about what happened on Monday... and some of them about Noiz's well-being.

It's true that, thanks to Ren, Aoba knows that Noiz managed to leave school on his own—after calling for help in Aoba's behalf, even. Had he gotten help for himself, though? Did he make it home safely?

Because, if Aoba fainted, that leaves Noiz as the only one who could've fought with Hiroto. He was in a bad enough shape, how tough must've been to knock him out without injuring himself further?

Aoba thinks he will have all of these questions answered when he returns to school. Turns out he's wrong.

"I see. So he didn't come today either."

It's Thursday. The students from Year 1 Class 10 don't even blink an eye at Aoba anymore; it's the second consecutive day he shows up at their doorway. Clear purses his lips, but then it takes the form of a hesitant smile.

"Today, I'll see if I can get our homeroom teacher to tell me Wilhelm-kun's address. I'm worried about the assignments piling up, so I want to take some copies of my notes to him. I'll tell you how he's doing, if I get to see him."

Aoba smiles weakly, head bowed down only slightly. "Okay."

Clear looks at a loss for words, but soon he perks up. "I know! Let's exchange Line information and I'll text you when I get some news about him!" Shifting on his feet, Clear leans on the doorframe of his classroom as he takes his phone out of his pocket. His lips are faintly curled up when he looks at Aoba again. "You're coming here every day during lunch break; it'll be easier like this."

Aoba blinks, wide-eyed as a sudden realization dawns on him. "Oh, sorry, am I bothering you or your classmates?"

Clear shakes his head. "Not at all, I'm just thinking you have to come all the way from the first building every time, before you even have your lunch."

Feeling the thankfully silent, but rather enthusiastic rumbling of his stomach in response to Clear's remark, Aoba can't bring himself to oppose his kouhai. They quickly exchange contact information through infrared, and Aoba returns to his classroom and his wrapped up lunch box.

Mizuki, as usual, has his chair pulled to the side of Aoba's desk, but this time, he's using his arms as a make-shift pillow, napping soundly even amidst their classmates' obnoxious laughter. Aoba lets the legs of his chair screech sharply against the floor as he pulls on it.

"Hey, you're not at your house," Aoba grumbles, taking his lunch box out of the compartment under his desk.

Mizuki stirs in place and raises his head with a yawn. He rubs away a tear from the corner of his eye and brushes a hand through his hair distractedly. Really, a sleeping beauty, except for the big red mark across his cheek from where he had it pressed against his arm.

"I didn't sleep enough last night, let me be..."

Aoba raises a brow. "And you disappeared during lunch break yesterday and didn't come back for the afternoon periods too. That's how you're planning to graduate this year?"

"What are you, the student council president? My mom?" Mizuki drawls, hiding his face in his arms again. Aoba scoffs but doesn't grace him with an answer, instead digging into his lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, Aoba is nearly done with his food when Mizuki yawns again, stretching his arms on the desk (and almost pushing Aoba's lunch box over the edge, had the boy not lifted it up in the air with a scowl). The strain in his shoulders relaxes at once and Mizuki slumps on the wooden surface with a sigh.

"Done?" Aoba asks, just as Mizuki is properly sitting up again.

"Yeah, yeah." Mizuki tilts his neck from one side to the other, pressing a hand to its base. Aoba hears a faint "pop".

"Did you even eat anything?"

"Oh, so worried about me!"

Aoba kicks Mizuki on the shin, but it's half-hearted. "Shut up. Where did you disappear off to yesterday, anyway? You said you were going to get snacks and never returned."

"Mm, I jumped the gate and went to 7/11."

Aoba spits an incredulous laugh. "Why?"

"They have these new corn puffs we can't get in the vending machines here or at home. It's so good it's worth the effort. The Platinum District really is something else."

"So you got lost on your way back?"

Mizuki rolls his eyes with a sarcastic grin. "Yeah, right. No, first I got a bit side-tracked because the cashier was really cute--" An audible scoff grates on the back of Aoba's throat. Mizuki ignores him. "-- _and then_ , I got a text from the guys at the hangout, so I just came back to grab my things and left. I was going to let you know, but you were out."

 _I must've been over at Clear's classroom._ Aoba knits his brows. "That's new. You never bother to tell me anything when you skip class."

Mizuki scratches his head. "Well, it's because it concerns you a little. It was Takato."

Aoba rears back, eyes going wide. Mizuki continues before he manages to make sense of the questions in his head.

"We didn't get to talk about this yesterday.  I went to Kisaragi on Tuesday to show Takato the pictures... Ren told you about the pictures, right?"

Aoba nods. The serious tone of their conversation is at odds with the overall carefree atmosphere of the classroom. "The ones he took of Hiroto to prove he was the one who attacked us."

"Yeah. Takato really had no leverage to counter the accusations, so we decided to arrange the finer details when Hiroto woke up, and yesterday-"

"W-wait, you're telling me that guy wasn't up yet by the next morning?!"

Aoba gapes openly, three or five shades paler as Mizuki gives a sharp nod.

"I was pretty surprised too; he only woke up yesterday morning. Don't get surprised if Takato tries to recruit you and Noiz again, with how hard you apparently socked that guy."

Mizuki barks a laugh and punches Aoba's shoulder. His response is more like a forced cough than an actual laugh. It seems Mizuki doesn't know Aoba blacked out before he could touch a hair of Takato's head.

"Can you believe Hiroto tried telling Takato he didn't do anything? Said he couldn't remember a thing. Hah, like that would fly with him."

"Maybe he really doesn't remember anything," Aoba mutters pensively.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break. Mizuki stands up with a short chuckle, dragging his chair back to his own desk.

"Now you're overestimating your fist. Like you could punch someone's memories away just like that."

 

* * *

 

Noiz never returns that week, and the next one is... Golden Week.

There's no school. The Old Residential District becomes a little emptier, since those who have the means will use the holidays to travel, but it's largely disproportionate to the swelling of tourists in Platinum District. Aoba doesn't need to watch the news or see the odd foreigner waddling lost around their district to know that. It's simply what happens every year.

"You're being a great help, Aoba-kun," his boss, Haga-san, tells him on Monday morning. They're in front of the repair shop, and Haga-san is placing the keys on Aoba's open palm. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to kick back and relax?"

Aoba shakes his head. "Don't worry; I'll still have plenty of free time. Not like I have anything big to do, anyway. Have fun!"

Behind Haga-san, the taxi driver is done loading his suitcase into the car trunk. They exchange polite waves, and soon, his boss is off on his way. Like some other people, he is going on a trip—a well-deserved one, Aoba knows.

Even before he started working for the man, Aoba was never a stranger to Haga-san. All elders in the Old Residential District are tightly knit, and he and Granny, especially, are long-time friends. Both Aoba and Ren have many a fond memory of hanging out at Haga-san's repair shop when they were toddling brats with tooth gaps and band-aids covering their knees and elbows.

Aoba was a cheeky little thing, touching everything he wasn't supposed to, giving made-up advices and tips to lenient patrons as though he was a trained clerk. Ren would pull a stool and climb on it, sitting beside Haga-san and roping him into long conversations, so much so that it wasn't only once or twice that a client had to clear their throat at the front desk to get Haga-san's attention.

They weren't any help; in fact, they distracted Haga-san and probably made his job much more difficult. Still, the man would always be boundlessly kind to them. That hasn't changed, even after they grew up.

When Haga-san asked him if he could take care of the shop while he visited relatives in the mainland, Aoba naturally accepted to help. Thus, now, he's in charge of checking the locks of the shop every morning, keep the place clean and feed the kittens that live behind the store—that's mostly Aoba's self-imposed duty, though.

He's relieved that it's cats. While he definitely loves them, if they were puppies, he would've already smuggled them into his house. Granny would be furious.

It's after he's fed the kittens, one morning. Aoba comes back into the shop and he's ducking under the counter, looking for a rag, when he listens to the door opening.

"Shit, forgot to lock the door," Aoba grumbles to himself, then says louder, "Sorry, but we're closed!"

Aoba straightens up, finding none other than Koujaku in the doorway.

In the few months they haven't seen each other, the other man hasn't changed a single bit. Maybe a bit taller than the day he left, but still broadly smiling, eyes alight with the same sincerity. If one fails to take a look at the hand on the hip of his red kimono and carefully listen to the deliberate low timber of his voice, they may not even realize how much of a heartbreaker he is.

"... Oh, it's you," Aoba says nonchalantly and bends down to resume his search for the rag.

"Aoba..." Koujaku sighs, admonishing. Aoba can hear him walking up to the desk. "Is that any way to greet a childhood friend you haven't seen in ages?"

"Months, not ages," Aoba corrects him, then lets out a faint _oh_ when he finds the rag under rolls of duct tape. He flaps it in the air to shake the dust away.

"You didn't even let me go upstairs to see you on your birthday, and I made sure to come back in time! I was really worried when I heard you were hurt."

Aoba stops in his methodical mopping of the desktop and looks up into Koujaku's eyes. He holds Aoba's dubious stare with plain concern and stubbornness. _Expressive as ever._ Aoba sighs and bumps his knuckles against Koujaku's forehead.

"I was tired, hippo." Koujaku reflexively scrunches his brow at the light aggression and Aoba smiles at him. "I thought you weren't even coming back."

"My father would've had it this way. This is why I hate going over to his place." Koujaku's gruffness dissolves into a grin he readily offers to Aoba. "But didn't I tell you I'd get the hell out of there as soon as I could? You can just come out and tell me you missed me, you know."

"Huh? I never meant to say that."

"Really? I mean, now that I'm back, I thought we'd be able to start things over, hopefully on the right feet..."

 _Ah._ Aoba's eyes open wide. Somewhere along the way, without Aoba's realizing, Koujaku has deftly twined their fingers in a loose grip, leaning closer over the counter, thick eyelashes drooping lower as he speaks to Aoba velvet soft.

A vein pops in Aoba's forehead.

When Koujaku's lips are less than two centimeters short of touching his, Aoba lets a harsh sigh escape through his nostrils and leans away. Koujaku's quickly descending lids stop and blink over wide eyes.

"Eh—? _Ow!!_ " is Koujaku's cry of pain when Aoba mercilessly bashes his forehead against Koujaku's.

The man staggers away from the counter, pressing his hands into the bruised spot with a wince and, undoubtedly, a teary eye.

"What was that for?!" Koujaku protests, voice going shrilly. The mood he's tried to set up lies at their feet in tiny little pieces.

Aoba ignores the sting on his own brow and huffs out an annoyed laugh. "Are you serious now?"

Koujaku looks taken aback, and Aoba gives him a dead stare, like an overachiever trying to teach their dumb best friend two months' worth of lectures ten minutes before an exam.

Not that Aoba has ever been in such position, but he imagines it's the same way Ren looked at him one unfortunate lunch break last year.

Ultimately, Aoba sighs. "Koujaku, we weren't even dating. What are you talking about, 'starting over'?"

"We were dating! We kissed, we had sex! I wrapped you up in my warm embrace!"

Patience wearing thin, Aoba rolls his eyes, casually grabbing the mop leaning on the wall. "Yeah, we had sex, and that was it. You said it yourself in the beginning, didn't you? We were just fooling around."

Koujaku's gaze flickered away and to the poster on the wall, the run-off-the-mill pretty girl on a motorbike type. "That was the _beginning_. We were on this for almost two months, and I started thinking I could really..." Koujaku trails off, then looks at Aoba accusingly. "And don't pretend you didn't notice. Didn't I tell you I wasn't giving up when I left?"

Aoba smiles thinly at him, bordering on pitiful. "Why are you being so serious about this? I just wanted a... confirmation of how I felt about men, and you were curious, it was just _convenient_ -"

"Then tell me why you had your guard up as soon as I entered the shop?" Koujaku raised his chin, resolute. "If it wasn't serious, why do you look as hurt now as you did when I told you I was leaving?"

"Now you're just sounding like those obsessed guys who can't get over their girlfriends breaking up with them."

"So you _admit_ we were-!"

"Alright!" Aoba's disrupting tone echoes in the room, the same false cheer present in his smile. "I've got a pretty hefty mop in my hand right now, so if you're not buying anything, get out before I make you."

Koujaku eyes Aoba and the mop warily. Regardless of their relationship status, it is known that Seragaki Aoba can and will hit you with a mop if you strike his last nerve. The twitch on the corner of Aoba's dark grin is as good a warning as any.

A resigned, but certainly not defeated, sigh leaves Koujaku. "We will continue this later."

"Hey, don't-" Aoba's protest is cut off by the door closing. Koujaku leaves without waiting for an answer to his one-sided promise.

Aoba lets out an irritated huff and drops his head, letting his brow press onto his forearms atop the counter.

This isn't how meeting Koujaku was supposed to go. After six months of ignoring the issue, of course Aoba didn't stop to think that, when Koujaku returned, things wouldn't go back to the way they were before they slept together for the first time.

Heaving a long, strained sigh, Aoba straightens up and goes into the back room. He deposits the mop on the corner and looks around to make himself remember if there's anything else he's supposed to do.

Not even two minutes later, Aoba hears the door creaking open outside.

"That Koujaku..." Aoba turns to stomp out of the back room, ready to tell the other man off for good this time.

However, Koujaku is nowhere to be seen this time. Immediately, Aoba tries to smooth out the scowl on his face like wrinkles on one's favorite dress shirt.

"G-good morning! The owner is out for the week so we're not taking repair services right now, but if you're interested in purchasing parts..."

"Aah, that's a pity," laments the young man in the doorway. He looks around Aoba's age, but it's hard to determine whether he's younger or older; while his airy voice is like that of a teenager, even from this far, Aoba can tell this potential client is taller than him. There's still some baby fat clinging to his cheeks, but he looks like something that stepped out of fashion magazine, all sharp jawline and long, soft brown hair braided loosely over his shoulder.

"I was hoping to have my bike looked over while I got some stuff settled over here, but I guess it'll have to wait."

"I can pencil you in for Monday first thing, if you want," Aoba says, sneaking a look at the motorbike parked in front of the shop. _Damn._ Even if he were to resort to his rookie knowledge to grab hold of the client, there's no way he could take on that monster.

"No, that's alright. It's nothing urgent, just a check-up." The boy waves his hand in the air as if batting away flies and approaches the counter. "Next time I'm over here, I'll see to it. For now, let's get the important stuff done with."

Aoba blinks confusedly and barely has time to react before the stranger is reaching for something on Aoba's chest. He jerks away, but doesn't go too far as the man pinches the pocket on the chest of his uniform shirt, where the kanji for his name is printed.

"Seragaki Aoba, am I correct?"

He lets go of the fabric and smiles beatifically at Aoba, who's more than a little alarmed despite this stranger's easy demeanor. If this is the guy's idea of flirting, then Aoba will have to tell him to tone down the creep factor before he gets himself arrested. Also, _who_ hits on people in their workplace?

A stupid head framed by unruly burgundy hair and an echoing hyena-like laugh breezes through his mind. Oh yeah, that type of weird guy. Aoba will make sure to sit Mizuki down and give him some friendly advice when they meet again.

In the current situation, it seems like Aoba doesn't need to waste his advices. The young man takes a couple of steps back, leaving Aoba's personal space. "You are done here, right? I need you to step out with me for a minute."

"What..."

The boy winks, his grin turning impish. "Don't tell Mizuki about this, okay? Or he'll tell on me to Takato."

 _Takato._ The name alone sets all alarms ringing in Aoba's head, and he's just calculating how to escape this situation, opening his mouth to spill excuses, when the next airy words reach his ears.

"Your little punk duckling of a boyfriend really loves getting himself in trouble, huh?"

Aoba stops. For once, he really looks at the young man in front of him. From the moment he entered the shop, everything about him bespoke joviality and unpretentious confidence. Now, however, his smile is irreprehensible, sharply analytic eyes thawing at the victory of a card well played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fool's Day! This is not a prank chapter, UNLESS it's really bad, in which case... Happy April Fool's Day, you were pranked! You can also tell how great of a Easter commemorative chapter this is; our local rabbit boy has gone missing and Aoba won't rest until he finds him (and gets some goddamn chocolate bunnies).  
> I disappeared for a while again, but for good reason! As I said, I needed to catch up on chapters; I like being a little bit ahead before posting new stuff. During this time, I've participated in a AMV contest (as said in the deleted Alice chapter notes), actually WON the category for Best Psychedelic Video (!!!!) and got 7th place for Best Video overall! Most importantly, I'VE GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE!!!!! I'm now a proud licensed teacher of Portuguese language and its respective literatures, and also, unemployed. Give me a job, please.  
> I'm thoroughly disappointed in myself because, by this time last year, I was finishing Rabbits, and even though I've been working in this one for as long as it took me to start AND finish Rabbits, I'm barely just scraping the surface here, rip. Well, I guess I'm being more critical and cautious than I was before; with Rabbits, there was a lot I didn't give proper thought to in the beginning and then later on I was like "ohh... fuck, should've gone this other way, can't undo it now". This time, I want to make sure I'll make everything right, and make sure this is a good story—a better story than the ones I've written before, if nothing else. If I can keep on improving myself as a writer, I'll be happy. I hope the results are pleasing you, and you can expect more regular updates now! Till next update! o(*≧□≦)o


	7. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, this is how I finally get you to punch me?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Aoba bluffs as soon as he finds his tongue.

The boy tilts his head, forehead scrunching in thought. After a moment of consideration, he beams at Aoba.

"Oh, sorry! Before inviting you out, I should've followed up with this: I'm Akira, Scratch's leader. Nice to meet you, Aoba-kun."

_Akira._

_"How's that useless leader of yours been?"_

_"Akira wouldn't like to hear you saying that."_

The aforementioned Akira extends his hand for Aoba to shake. Instead, Aoba wants to shake Mizuki, because while this guy indeed doesn't look like someone that would be mixed up with Ribsteez, the ill-concealed craftiness in his smile is not that of a _useless leader_.

 Still, Aoba takes his hand.

(Akira's grip is _not_ that of a useless leader either, he observes. Aoba feels like he's been tricked into only being wary of Takato when there's someone even more concerning behind him.)

"Now, we've made it clear that you can't lie to me," Akira says breezily. "I know exactly who you are, and I need you to come with me. Will you?"

 _Doesn't sound like much of a question_ , Aoba thinks. Yet, he clenches his fists and stands his ground.

"Why would I? How can I be sure you're not luring me into a trap?"

Akira snorts, eyebrows coming down over his amber eyes derisively. "Now I ask you, _why would I_? Despite common belief, we all have better things to do. I'd gain nothing from getting in trouble with Mizuki by kidnapping you—in fact, I'm here because I'm _trying_ to settle this under wraps."

Aoba still regards him suspiciously, though it's becoming harder to not take him at his word. "How so?"

"Well, from what Takato told me, that kid wasn't supposed to be wandering around Kisaragi. In fact, he shouldn't even be _near_ the Southern District after what happened to Hiroto, but..." Akira sighs, nearly theatrical. "That's not what I saw when I picked him up from the street two hours ago."

"Picked him..." Aoba breathes out, blanching in the sunlight pouring through the store front. He holds on to the edge of the countertop and stammers, "What do you mean? Is... is he alright?"

Akira pokes at his chin in thought.

"I wonder... I had to leave him with a couple of our teammates to come here. I did leave express instructions not to touch Noiz or breathe a word about him to the others, but those guys don't take me nearly as seriously as they do Takato. Mmm-"

Aoba interrupts Akira with a harsh sigh and metallic jingling as he grabs the keys and moves around the front desk.

"Alright, alright, I'm going, just... let me lock things up first."

Akira laughs, a cheeky glint in his eye. "You really love your boyfriend."

Aoba opens his mouth to correct him, _no, he's not my boyfriend_ , but stops himself. It's probably for the best that Scratch keeps on believing Mizuki's thoughtless lie.

"A whole lot, yeah." If sarcasm has seeped into his voice, Akira's indulgent grin suggests he thinks nothing of it.

 

* * *

 

Between hearing about Noiz for the first time in two weeks and accepting to follow Akira to the Southern District, Aoba didn't think of the implications of the huge black motorbike parked in front of the store. That is, until Akira dropped a helmet in his hands, making a bright show of teeth.

When Akira called it "his baby", Aoba thought that meant he'd drive mindfully. He'd call it his first mistake, but really, the first one was bending to Akira's persuasion inside the shop.

"So... what exactly do I need to do here?" Aoba practically wheezes, still winded from the lightning-fast ride and sharp turns taken around corners and _moving vehicles_. It's only slightly mortifying that his fear of flying off the back seat forced him into a vice grip around a stranger's waist.

"Mm? Oh, yeah, you need to take your guy out of this place. Hiroto's friends are out for blood, you know? He's lucky I found him." Akira sighs long-suffering, motioning with his head for Aoba to follow him towards a small apartment complex. "Don't worry, I have everything planned out. You're the last piece I needed."

Aoba blinks quizzically, but says nothing more as they climb the staircase tucked to the side of the building. Following Akira's lead, Aoba stops behind him in front of a door.

First, a short series of uneven-timed knocks on the wood. Then, Akira pulls a keychain out of his pockets, the colorful beads catching the sun and flashing in Aoba's vision, nearly blinding him. Akira slips a key into the hole and twists it, pushing the door open.

The vision that greets them is that of a dimly lit kitchen. A couple of slightly older men are sitting on the floor, legs criss-crossed, playing cards while a lone, blond figure is sitting on a chair. Noiz is looking at the door blankly, black tape covering his lips and ropes tied around his torso and feet.

Aoba shoulders past Akira, barely stopping for enough time to stick his fingers into the back of his shoes to pull them off his feet. The two men at the corner, most likely Akira's henchmen, don't move an inch as Aoba strides over to Noiz, catching him by the shoulders and giving him an once-over. The ropes encircling Noiz's arms and torso are neatly tied at the chair's back. Aoba turns to look incredulously at Akira.

"Why the hell is he tied up?! And _gagged_?!"

If not as surprised as Aoba, Akira does look relatively intrigued by the scene before him.

"Oh, that was me," one of the men sitting on the floor speaks up, raising a hand.

"Kyou-chan... didn't I tell you guys not to touch him?" Akira reprimands him, but half-heartedly so.

"Sorry," the man, Kyou-chan, sounds as unapologetic as one would expect in response to such a weak scolding. "He was being annoying, so. Swear we didn't rough him up or anything."

Akira sighs, but quickly perks up at Aoba. At least, that's what Aoba thinks until Akira open his mouth and he realizes Scratch's leader is looking over his shoulder.

"Noiz, I told you to stop with your temper tantrums," Akira coos disapprovingly, as though talking to a rowdy child. "See? Aoba-kun's here now. And you said he didn't care at all; I didn't even have to twist his arm much."

Aoba turns his head to glance at Noiz, finding a vicious glare there. Moreover, it's pointed at _him_ , not Akira. That certainly shows a healthy Noiz, but why is Aoba receiving the death-ray stare when Akira is the one teasing him?

"So, uh," Aoba starts awkwardly while Akira moves into the kitchen. As the sudden adrenaline rush is easing away, he starts to realize he's stuck in an enclosed space with a group of dangerous delinquents. "You said you picked Noiz up from the street, but he doesn't look hurt at all..."

Akira pulls a second chair from the table and drops his weight on it, crossing his legs sloppily. With a carefree flick of his wrist, he retrieves his phone from his jacket's inner pocket.

"Oh, no. Luckily, I caught sight of his little..." Akira gestures vaguely towards Noiz's head. "... bird nest of hair turning around the corner before the troublesome guys could get to him."

"You must know about us from Takato, huh?" Aoba wonders aloud, smiling hesitantly. It's cut short by the weird look Akira gives him in response.

The look, which Aoba feels is a bit too close to sullen, is gone in less than a second. Akira goes back to tapping on his screen with an irked pout. "That's exactly it. I, very politely, told Noiz he shouldn't be wandering around this place, but after trying to attack us, he said he wasn't going anywhere if I didn't bring you here. Really, what a pain."

Aoba looks over at Noiz again. The apple-green eyes are turned away now, but the memory of his glare is still vivid. That didn't look like the gaze of someone who wanted Aoba here. "And... you just up and decided to protect him from your other teammates?"

"Aren't I generous? I've arranged everything; since I can't lead you out myself, you'll be escorted out of the Southern District by a very trustworthy person." Akira smiles sweetly, but there's a challenge lingering quiet in his eyes, daring Aoba to put his intentions in question. In what feels like an incredibly out-of-place show of hospitability, he announces, "We're in my place, by the way. Feel free to treat yourself to some melon juice while we wait for them."

"We're out of melon juice," the man who's not _Kyou-chan_ promptly drawls from the corner, voice muffled by the toothpick hanging from his lips, not looking away from the apparently intense card game they're playing.

Akira's shoulders slump, letting out a subdued "Whaaat?"

From his front-seat view of the men shrugging off Akira's whining, Aoba is starting to see how this guy can be considered a _useless leader_. He shakes himself out of the distraction.

"... This makes no sense. Why did you go to such troubles for Noiz?"

Akira's eyes flash in a way that makes Aoba feel like he's walked into a trap.

The boy leans forward, chin resting on his open palm. His elbow finds purchase on his ankle, which is resting atop his opposite leg's knee. "I hate meaningless violence, to be honest. That may sound like a joke; I know of the fame Scratch has outside of the Southern District. We're not really like that. This whole scuffle with Hiroto was stupid from the beginning, and I'd rather avoid trouble with Mizuki..."

Akira trails off, carefully regarding Aoba's narrowed-eyed gaze. In a way that shouldn't feel as natural as it does, the forlorn tilt of his lips morphs into a smug grin, displaying a sharp white canine.

"But, mostly, I wanted to see you with my own eyes."

"See... me."

Akira beams in spite of Aoba's distrustful tone. "Yep! I mean, it's only natural. Takato gave me an earful when he met you, you know. All about how he could tell who you were by your voice, blah blah blah." Akira speaks while letting a keen glance stretch toward Noiz, head tilting to the side.

"My voice?" Aoba asks distantly. Akira springs up to his feet, ignoring him until Aoba proceeds with another question. "Did we... speak to each other before that day?"

"Mm? Oh, no, not to you." Akira crouches beside Noiz and lifts his chin with a crooked finger. Green eyes glint furiously between the thin cracks of Noiz's lids, as irate as Akira is solemn. Uncaring for his glare, Akira rips the black tape off Noiz's lips in a single brusque motion, the sharp screech like a gunshot in the still air of the kitchen. Aoba's shoulders jump. Noiz's head simply jerks in place, led by momentum.

"I had to take advantage; this is the best possible chance I could get to properly put my curiosity to rest," Akira hums in thoughtful consideration, gazing up at Noiz's shadowed visage. "Not only did I get the sole eye witness to the incident walking right into the palm of my hand, but he brought in the main subject as well. I really can't thank you enough, Noiz."

Akira turns his attention back to Aoba and only then does he rise to his full height, casually draping his forearm over Noiz's shoulders.

"I didn't take Takato too seriously at first, but then the incident at your school happened. Mizuki was clueless, but of course, Takato and I picked up on the implications of Hiroto's coma and memory loss. So let me ask you first. The one who broke into Hiroto's head... it was you, right?"

The question leaves a long, oppressive silence in its wake. Aoba waits for Akira to crack another one of his snarky grins, but his lips remain in a thin line, golden eyes piercing into Aoba's with intent. The two men who were absorbed in their card game until a second ago are now peering at Aoba from the corner of their vision, as though waiting for him to attack Akira or something to that effect.

Noiz's eyes are the only ones turned away from Aoba. Somehow, that doesn't help the cold numbing his skin and the nervous fever burning underneath.

Akira sighs and moves to stand behind Noiz, eyes locked onto Aoba's. "You're going to try and lie to me again, right? Come on, do your worst."

Whether Aoba intends to laugh or make a mocking remark when he manages to open his mouth, what leaves him is a pathetic exhale. His lungs feel too small—or maybe too big in the constricted space inside his ribcage.

This talk of voices, lost memories, breaking into one's head... Aoba can't make heads or tails of it. And yet, he can't find it in him to deny any of Akira's ridiculous propositions. Not when he's being looked at like the wolf in sheep's clothing, and even he feels the smell of blood coming from his hands.

"Didn't you say," Noiz starts, his low voice breaking through Aoba's daze, "you knew all about what happened that day? Why are you making all these stupid questions you apparently know the answers to?"

Noiz is staring at some point over Aoba's head, as though Akira was standing behind Aoba, not himself.

Akira laughs like a doting parent watching his toddler acting silly. Noiz looks as though he's considering biting off Akira's face when he leans down and pushes his cheek against Noiz's, arms coming around his shoulders in a hug.

"Here I thought you lost the ability to speak! You're a little forgetful, though. You'll just let me have my fun; that's what we decided on, right?"

Aoba makes yet another sorry attempt at smiling. "You two are making no sense..."

After unhurriedly taking in the background, Noiz's eyes finally settle on Aoba's face. Luminous green, eerily beautiful and striking him down like a lightning bolt, incapable and unwilling to hide the reality of oncoming storms.

It's always been like this; Noiz's gaze speaks volumes louder than his voice ever could, and there's no relief to it.

A knock resounds in the small kitchen and successfully breaks the heavy silence. Then, more knocks echo out, once again timed in a specific rhythm.

Aoba is frozen under Noiz's gaze, hazel eyes wide. Akira sighs again, seemingly disappointed by the interruption, but the levity of his movements as he leaves his position belies no inner turmoil. On his way to the door, Akira smiles ambiguously at Aoba, giving a light tap to his shoulder.

"No need to get so tense. We're on your side, after all."

The door opens. Sunlight spills into the kitchen again, but with it, comes a long shadow.

"Yuu-chan, took you long en... oh."

Aoba finally looks over his shoulder to see the cause for Akira's surprise. There's a woman at the doorway... but then someone else steps up from behind her. Immediately, Aoba can put a name to the curtains of straight black hair and blank expression.

"Uh, sorry about this, Aki-chan," the woman, Yuu-chan, says coyly, scratching behind her pierced ear.

The tenseness in Akira's shoulders melt away, then he heaves a soundless exhale. He goes on to say, chipper:

"Takato! Good timing, can you get us some melon juice?"

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Akira's plan was to keep Noiz away from his own team's eye and have Yuu-chan safely transport him and Aoba in her van to the Western District, since she apparently had some deliveries to make in the area. This is, at least, as much as Aoba pieces together as he boards into the back of the woman's van, alongside a completely silent Noiz.

Most of the plan is going accordingly, except that Takato found them out. After Akira's flippant greeting, Takato simply looked over his leader's shoulder and ordered their two loitering teammates to untie Noiz. They quickly jumped into action, seizing the chance to quietly slip out of the room as Takato instructed Yuu-chan on where to drop Noiz and Aoba off.

Before leaving, Aoba caught a brief glance exchanged between Takato and Akira. Somehow, he was starkly reminded of a mother telling her child they'll "have a talk" when they get home through a cold glare alone.

Despite the threat in Takato's chocolate-brown eyes, Akira gave a light wave of his hand as they left, one corner of his lips lifted up cheekily. The apartment door closed, just like that.

"Might get pretty bumpy here and there, you know this place's grade-A pavement," Yuu-chan tells Aoba with a toothy grin, one hand on the van's door. However youthful she is, Aoba can tell she's definitely much older than all of them, probably in her thirties.

"Sorry for the trouble. Thank you for giving us a ride, Yuu... Yuu-san" Aoba says with a curt bow of his head. Yuu-chan waves her hand with a carefree laugh.

"It's Yuuko, boy. Don't worry, I'm just doing a favor for my stupid nephew."

She drops a heavy hand on Aoba's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. Just like that, he's left with that random piece of information on his lap as the woman slams the doors shut.

A look around the inside of the van reveals quite a few nondescript cardboard boxes, all sealed shut with adhesive tape. Aoba and Noiz wordlessly move around to opposite sides of the stuffy room, settling down under the tinted windows. Dim daylight scatters over their heads, illuminating what little it can of each one of them.

The engine revs up. Aoba's gaze falls on Noiz's hands as he brushes a distracted thumb over his pulse point, over the red marks left by the ropes.

"I'm sorry," Aoba blurts out, "I should've tried to untie you as soon as I got there."

Noiz's only answer is a barely audible scoff. Aoba furrows his brow and bites his tongue at the question of "did I say anything funny?" waiting to leap off it. After the incident on Aoba's birthday, isn't it embarrassing to just keep going at each other's throat like this?

Except that, apparently, Aoba wasn't properly present for a very key moment of their last encounter; the very reason why Noiz looked at him the way he did at Akira's apartment.

After a week of listlessness and walking in circles, the questions surrounding that day had ebbed away from the forefront of Aoba's mind. They gave space to his more trivial problems, like homework for Golden Week and his task as Heibon Repair Shop's sole caretaker in Haga-san's absence.

He's been lulled into a false sense of security, which made the impact of Akira's forceful interrogation that much heavier. In one fell swoop, he's falling down the familiar spiral of questions; what happened while he was unconscious? The words he heard in the darkness were words truly said by him? Whatever happened to Hiroto, whatever was apparently caused by him, was it something natural? Is he still the person he was before it all happened?

In the center of the spiral, it all connects to a single question.

Was he ever who he thought he was?

Aoba can't tell how many seconds and minutes have slipped by while he got lost in his own winding thoughts. As he navigates this maze, seeing the same walls and same corners, entrapped in an illusion of stillness, time is passing and the van is still bumping up and down the streets. Aoba has never been the introspective type, but it's the first time he can't bear to look inside himself.

There's muffled honking outside; Yuuko's cussing can be heard coming from the front of the car. When Aoba looks up, Noiz still has his vision dropped low, ignoring his presence. Slowly, Aoba sets his shoulders, blinking at the boy.

"How's your head?"

Noiz raises his gaze to Aoba's face, but doesn't respond with words; instead, he lifts a single eyebrow.

"You had your head hurt before, right?" Aoba elaborates, though it feels unnecessary for him. "That day at school."

"It's fine."

There's finality to his voice, cutting off communication as swiftly as the sharp snap of scissor blades. While Aoba is looking at him, inadvertently earnest and searching, Noiz is peering down at his hands again.

"Ah..." Aoba clears his throat, tries again with a brittle, purposeless smile. "I'm glad. That looked pretty bad, then. There was a lot of blood, and when H-Hiroto showed up..."

Aoba pauses, lets a single breath leave him, and his fake smile ultimately crumbles under the weight of the memories. This time, Noiz is warily observing him and Aoba lets his own gaze slip down to his open palms, settled on his folded legs.

Aoba's hands seem to always be reaching out—to pull Noiz up from certain fall, to forcefully grasp it bloody and sweaty—while Noiz's hands are always pushing Aoba away. For once, in that empty classroom, Noiz let Aoba get a little bit closer.

It was so different from the entrance ceremony day. At that time, Aoba was afraid to watch some boy, a stranger, die in front of him. Afraid of the responsibility, the guilt that wouldn't let him sleep for days.

This time, seeing Noiz's body sagging in Hiroto's hold...

_A little closer. Still too far away._

"That was scary. If something happened to you, I-"

"You really are so..."

At those simmering words, the thin thread of thought Aoba's been holding onto slips off his fingertips, texture long-forgotten when his eyes flicker up to Noiz's. A shudder rides up Aoba's spine; his gaze is razor-sharp, puncturing through Aoba's in low-boiling fury. In the dim lighting, his piercings glint as bright as his livid green eyes.

Entrapped like prey, Aoba only stares as a calloused hand reaches for him and fists at the collar of his shirt, pushing him down.

 

* * *

 

He's slammed against the wall, and while his sanctimonious grin is unbeatable, the impact does yank a pained grunt out of him. Takato's mouth is twisted in a snarl, his fingers clutched so tightly to the collar of Akira's shirt they tremble.

Akira looks down. Takato's knuckles are twitching, nudging at his collarbones through fabric.

"So, this is how I finally get you to punch me?" Akira teases.

Unsurprisingly, Takato ignores him and growls, his scowl closing in on Akira's sneer. "Why would you bring them into your house? Can't you tell how dangerous this is?"

Their noses are brushing. Akira lets out a faint snort, which fans over Takato's face.

"I had to see things for myself, it was too interesting. That guy even got you to sing his praises, but... honestly, I don't see why you were so stunned."

"You wouldn't _see it_ , idiot. Thank your lucky stars you didn't get to see Scrap in action and you weren't the target."

Akira leans his head to the side, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I guess you're right. But don't you think we had to meet, sooner rather than later? Since our fathers were comrades in the front line."

Takato huffs and lets go of Akira's collar, eliciting a pout from the other boy. Pensive, light-brown eyes stray away from golden ones and trace across a wall.

"That man didn't have _comrades_ , Akira."

Takato's gaze is lost somewhere Akira can't think of ever reaching. Peering at him by a side-long glance, Akira bites his tongue and contents himself with a bitter smile.

"Wouldn't you know."

 

* * *

 

Aoba winces; the back of his head hit hard against the floor of the cargo. He blinks through the ache vibrating all around his skull.

Above him, the faint light pouring through the window has vanished, leaving only darkness in its wake. The floor rattles under his shoulder blades. Aoba blinks once more, then twice, disoriented. Is he blacking out...?

 _No_ , he quickly realizes as sharper lines and colors surface from under oppressive shadows. It's like he's coming _out_ of a nearly unconscious state, coming back to reality once again, except said reality is steadily _bearing down_ on him.

Green eyes flash down at Aoba, fury and frustration and _something_ just a bit too far from Aoba's reach swirling in Noiz's glare as he pins the third-year down.

"Noiz-"

"Shut up," Noiz interrupts Aoba, fist clutching the collar of his shirt. Despite his agitated look, his voice is as steadfast as always, quiet unrest boiling within. "Why didn't you stop this whole act yet? Why are you even here?"

Aoba swallows. "Wh- wasn't you the one who called me here?!"

Noiz let out a scoff. "Of course not. That bastard Akira bribed me into a stupid bet; he just used me to get to you. I didn't expect you to be stupid enough to actually follow him back."

"A _bet?!_ " Aoba brings a clenched fist to Noiz's chest, trying to put some distance between them. The blond boy doesn't budge, despite Aoba's unrelenting punches. "What kind of fucking bet did you two make? I can't believe I came all the way here to-"

"After capturing me, he started talking about what happened when Hiroto attacked me. About what you did." As he speaks, Noiz keeps a steady gaze on Aoba, whose punches stutter to a stop. "Akira told me the same things as when you were there; you broke into that guy's mind with a single word. It was clear he knew more."

"I can't... that's impossible..."

Noiz pays no heed to Aoba's muttering. "I wanted to pull that information out of him. Akira kept on going on and on about how he wanted to see you, how you would definitely show up if he said I was in trouble. I told him you wouldn't." Noiz exhales harshly, something between amusement and exasperation.

"We made the bet around then. If you didn't show up, it'd be my win and I could get him to spill everything. If you showed up, he'd win and he could do whatever he wanted. That bastard was just humoring me; I only realized it later on."

Aoba's eyes wander away for a moment before returning to Noiz. His voice is hoarse, slow. "Akira made it seem like you were hurt... Of course I would show up."

"Why would I count on you for anything?" Noiz throws at his face, cold and removed. "Especially after that day. You don't have any reason to play the goody-two-shoes around me anymore; I had quite a view to what you can do."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what it is, or you wouldn't look like this."

"I don't know! I don't remember anything!" Aoba yells, unthinking of whether Yuuko can hear him outside. In the silence that follows he lets out a heavy breath, shielding himself in the darkness behind his tightly shut eyelids.

"... Then, maybe you want to refresh your memory." 

Aoba opens his eyes as Noiz makes quick work of grabbing his wrists and holding them over his head. The third-year struggles, but his legs are immobilized as well.

"What are you doing?! _Oi-!_ "

One strong hand tethers Aoba's wrists to the ground and the other moves to his neck.

"You reacted to Hiroto attacking you," Noiz says conversationally, as smooth as his fingertips and its predatory movements. They press down against his airways, only enough for Aoba to feel the pressure and shudder, treasuring every inhale and exhale.

"One word from you and he was on his knees screaming before dropping limp to the floor. It was quite the show."

"Stop that, Noiz-!" Aoba grunts as Noiz tightens his grip, his contorting body falling limp as to save his breath.

"You'll do the same thing if I'm the one attacking you, right?"

Aoba watches, giving stuttered and shallow breaths, as Noiz's hand swiftly moves away from his neck to grab a handful of his hair, staring down at him.

It's in his grasp, but he never pulls. Noiz blinks down at him, eyes narrowing.

Aoba breathes in and takes the chance; he pushes himself up with all the strength he can gather and bodily shoves Noiz off him. He braces himself for the pain of him pulling at his hair, but it never comes. Noiz loosens his hold as he's pushed away, being the one this time to fall on his back on the floor.

Contrary to Noiz, however, Aoba doesn't crowd him. Instead, he crawls back to where he was sitting before he was sent grappling to the floor, pushing himself farther away from Noiz. Aoba hugs his knees to his chest, the feverish heaving subsiding as adrenaline leaves him.

"I did that because I was afraid you were really going to die," Aoba says after a while. No matter how blurry his memories of the incident are, this one thing... only this, it rings true to Aoba.

It's hard to swallow. A part of Aoba has inadvertently expected, _hoped_ that after what happened on his birthday, the next time he saw Noiz would be different. Ever since he woke up with the bruises from standing up to Hiroto, ever since he learned how Ren and Clear found him... and ever since he learned Noiz's real name. Since then, Aoba has wanted to see Noiz, talk to him, experiment the difference he thought sparked from that moment.

If anything changed, it was for the worst. And it may just be Aoba's own fault.

Noiz keeps quiet for one long minute. Then, low and accusingly, "Pretty sure of yourself for someone who doesn't remember anything."

"I remember the word, only that. I never.... I didn't know. I _don't_. Even if I don't know how I did it, don't know _what_ I even did... I know exactly _why_ I did it." Aoba's gaze slides to the side, finding Noiz and pinning him with a chilling glare. Noiz blankly looks back at him.

"You know that too, don't you? That's why you called my brother to help me."

In Aoba's heart, it's the last thing he can hold on to, the most meaningful. A palpable sign that Noiz listened to him, that his feelings reached Noiz and he realized that he doesn't need to isolate himself anymore. People can care about him genuinely, and he can care about them, as well, not because he's receiving something, but because he _wants_ to.

In Aoba's heart, it's a hand reaching out to Noiz, asking for confirmation. Out of his lips, it's reduced to a bitter retort, a blade to his neck. Like it isn't as important as it really is for Aoba.

Noiz sits up slowly, scoots back to the other side of the cargo. They're back to the positions they occupied just as the doors had closed on them, like they had never moved. Once again, only the croaky hum of the engine and tires protesting at the irregular asphalt accompany them, no word fitting into the large space between them.

"From now on, make sure to stay away from me," it's Noiz's answer, at last. Aoba raises his head slowly, staring at him.

These are not unfamiliar words coming from Noiz. The very first time they met, Noiz said something to this effect. _Don't show up in front of me again._

Aoba drops his sight, his arms slide off his knees. Maybe he should feel the words have no weight, given their repetition. Instead, they're stronger for it—this time, not between two strangers, but between two people who know each other.

In the dark, Aoba's hand grasps at nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FIXED THE LINK TO THE ARTWORK ON THE FIRST CHAPTER NOTES!]  
> Happy 1-year anniversary for this fanfic! And somehow, we're still on chapter 7... At this point I should just stop apologizing (or promising more regular updates), lmao.  
> It's my birthday as well, as I said in the first author notes for this work, so I thought I should be a Reasonable Human Being and stop delaying this update. This is long overdue, but it's finally here and I Hope I won't feel the impulse to change something again LOL.  
> Now I also have Overwatch to blame for my slow progress... But I'm pretty ahead with my chapters, actually. I'm just really trying my hardest so everything will be perfect, so it's not only writing, but also revising earlier chapters and making sure it's all consistent ;v;  
> I noticed the subscriptions for this story increased lately, so I'm quite hopeful that I'll be reaching more people from now on. Remember that a comment makes the author's day! I hope you will like this chapter, and see you next update! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡


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